


Fight Me 'Til the Sun Rises

by fairytaleslayer



Series: Fight Me [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Adult Content, At the same time, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, In later chapters - Freeform, Lexa's sick again the poor kid, Side Story, Smut, Strong Language, and there's, fight me, just normal couple things, she needs a new immune system stat, she's always sick, we're talking violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-23 09:58:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 55,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4872511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairytaleslayer/pseuds/fairytaleslayer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life goes on as Clarke and Lexa wade their way through their careers, marriage and children – facing every bump in the road the same way each time: headfirst and always together.</p><p>Or</p><p>The continuation of Fight Me, featuring stand-alone chapters dealing with everyday life and all the little things that can go right and wrong – but always worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'll Send a Storm

**Author's Note:**

> A reader requested I write a short fic about Clarke actually taking care of Lexa when she’s sick after they begin dating and being her worried self, and I couldn’t resist. If you haven’t read Fight Me, you probably don’t need to in order to enjoy this, but I highly suggest it, if I do say so myself. 
> 
> This takes place about halfway between the second and third chapters.

_October 30, 2014_

Lexa hasn’t called you in five days. She hasn’t texted you in three. You’re trying not to worry, but your girlfriend doesn’t go AWOL without letting you know exactly when you can expect to hear from her again. It’s sweet and kind of adorable. Lexa is very precise about her plans for work and you, which generally makes you all gooey inside. But now she hasn’t contacted you in too long for you not to be just a little bit panicky.

You’ve only been dating for a few months (Three months, five days, six hours, but who’s counting? You’re pretty sure Lexa knows it to the minute), and you don’t want to seem clingy. You aren’t sure you have reached the point where you are allowed to be panicked about your girlfriend not talking to you for a few days.

The last time you didn’t panic when people stopped answering your calls, though, your dad died. He just – wasted away from cancer and neither he nor your mom ever said a word. “We didn’t want to distract you from your life,” Abby had said, after it was too late. After he was gone. They’d urged you to stay at school, to focus on your pre-med studies, saying it was just a cold that Jake would get over soon enough and that’s why he sounded off on the phone when you called. Why he sounded so tired and _so_ sick.

Then the phone calls had stopped, and your own had gone straight to voicemail, so you’d flown down from New York back to Washington DC in the middle of finals week without informing your parents to demand that they tell you what was going on. You had been two days too late. Your father was gone, and you never even knew he was sick.

It’s been five years, and you haven’t forgiven Abby yet. You’d dropped pre-med that semester, unable to stomach being in the same profession as her. You haven’t seen Abby (you can’t bear calling her ‘Mom’ anymore, since she stopped being one) since the funeral – haven’t spoken to her since one disaster of a phone call a few months later when she’d tried to explain.

“There isn’t anything you can say or do to make it right!” you’d screamed at her, terrifying Octavia, you’re then roommate. “He’s gone, and there’s nothing you could ever do to make me hate you less, Abby.” Abby had gone silent when you’d used her first name, and you’d gotten a kind of perverse pleasure in hurting her – rejecting her the way she’d done you by not allowing you to hold your father’s hand as he passed. You’d hung up on her, and she hasn’t reached out since.

Despite your shattered relationship, you couldn’t give up the medical field entirely. You’d switched to nursing, and you think you’re much happier here than you ever would have been as a physician. You get to actually learn about your patients as individuals – have conversations with them. Physicians don’t have the time to get to know their patients, so you do it for them.

But that’s why you panic when people don’t answer their phones, as Lexa is doing right now. You hold out for another ten hours, but once you’re finished with your latest shift at Ark on a Friday night, you go straight to Lexa’s apartment, knuckles gripping the steering wheel until they’re white and cramped.

You run up the three flights of stairs, too impatient for the elevator. You also _never_ run, so you know you’ve been ignoring just how concerned you are about your girlfriend. You pound on her door, and when it isn’t answered in thirty seconds, you hit it harder. “Lexa!” you call through the wood that remains stubbornly closed and barring you entrance. You remind yourself to demand a key for emergencies. “Lexa, open the door so I know you’re not dead!” You’re thinking about ramming the door and calculating the possibility of dislocating your shoulder when the door is _finally_ wrenched open.

Anya stares at you, perplexed. You frown. Anya is not Lexa. “Where is Lexa?” you demand.

Lexa’s best friend sighs in relief, rolling her eyes. “Good. You’re here. _You_ can take care of the idiot.”

“What? What’s wrong with Lexa?” you inquire frantically. Anya just pushes past you with a mutter of annoyance that you think maybe involves ‘gross significant others’, ‘stubborn lawyers’, and maybe ‘runny noses’? “Anya!” The blonde just waves a hand in the direction of Lexa’s apartment before she disappears from view down the stairwell.

Confused and not feeling any more confident that your girlfriend is not currently in the process of dying, you venture inside Lexa’s domain. It’s not as stark as it used to be – all dark wood and grey tones. The colorful painting you’d made for her birthday hangs in prominence over her dining table, along with several bright knick knacks you’d gifted her randomly littering various bookshelves and countertops.

“Lexa?” you call.

“Clarke,” a gravelly voice reaches you from Lexa’s bedroom. You walk briskly to the open door and stand stock still at what greets you.

Lexa is curled up into a tiny ball on her bed, about eight blankets on top of her and at least six pillows either under her head or surrounding it. You can’t help the miniscule smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth. She looks kind of small and adorable.

And sick.

But you sigh in relief, because generally, she seems to be okay. “Lexa,” you breathe. “What’s wrong?” You go to sit on the edge of the bed by her stomach.

She shifts away from you, which is the last thing you want. After nearly a week of anxiety, you want to be as close as possible. “Just the flu,” she murmurs tiredly. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“You should have told me,” you reprimand her, feeling her forehead. “You’re feverish. When was the last time you drank something?”

Lexa makes a face. “Anya made me drink some kind of disgusting tea an hour ago, I think,” she says disgustedly. “I almost spat it in her face.”

You can’t help the wry chuckle you let out. No wonder Anya had been in a hurry to leave. “Next time, call me,” you order softly. “Or you’ll have that fight on your hands you were so desperate for three months ago.” Lexa laughs, but it turns into a wracking cough that makes her body shudder. You suck in a sharp breath, concern stabbing at you as you rub her back soothingly. “Shh,” you whisper. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be fine.” You’re not sure who the words are supposed to be benefitting, but Lexa relaxes into your touch as you kiss her forehead.

“Don’t want you to get sick,” she protests wearily, too exhausted to actually try to stop you.

“I work in a hospital,” you remind her. “I’ve faced eighty percent of the germs known to mankind in that festering place. Plus, I had my flu shot, which I recall someone else in this room did not because they’re scared of needles,” you tease in a sing-song voice.

“Not scared,” Lexa insisted. It’s cute how her speech gets so informal when she’s tired and sick. “Needles are unnecessary. Could just have the spray instead.”

“Yeah, that would be a good point if you’d actually _gotten_ the nasal spray, Lex,” you gloat. “But you didn’t, because you said they had no business sticking something up your nose.”

“Didn’t,” Lexa pouts. She’s too cute to resist. You kiss it off her lips until she’s smiling contently. Then you get up, ignoring her whine of protest until she moves to sit up as well.

“Stay there,” you warn her, glaring until she subsides with a small growl. “I’ll be right back.” You go into her kitchen, mentally making a list of what you’ll need to make her better. Soup will help her throat and get some sodium into her, which she’s probably low on. Some flu medicine, but you don’t think Lexa really has any medications besides low dose Tylenol she sometimes takes when her legs hurt from standing in court all day in uncomfortable shoes.

You should probably find a thermometer from somewhere to see if her fever is high enough to warrant another trip to the hospital, but you think you can hold off on that for now. Lexa won’t want to, and you have no desire to see her in a hospital bed again anytime soon. If she gets worse, or has trouble breathing again like her pneumonia, you’ll take her, but until then, you will try to battle it out from here. The comforts of home are always beneficial, anyways.

Pulling out your phone, you call Raven, who you know will be lounging in her apartment on a Friday night. Unless she’s with her latest bed buddy – Kyle, or Wick, or someone. Maybe he’s the same person? Last week it was some girl named Echo. Raven goes through them like nobody you’ve seen before. But she’ll probably answer.

“Sup, Griffin?” her cheery voice breezes in.

You smile. It’s always nice when you’re right. “I need you to do me a favor,” you request without even bothering to greet her.

“Hello, Raven, you’re sounding beautiful today, as always. Why I know, Clarke, how kind of you to remark on it. So glad you called just to catch up with your best friend,” Raven drawled.

You roll your eyes. “Hello Raven, you sound beautiful and I’m sure you look just as gorgeous. Satisfied?”

“Not nearly. What do you need?” Raven sighs.

“Lexa’s sick.” You know that Raven will know exactly how that makes you feel. She and Octavia had to pick up the pieces after your father died, after all. She’s one of the reasons you’re still remotely sane. “I don’t want to leave her, but she has absolutely nothing here that will help. Could you please go to the store for me?” you practically beg.

“Yeah,” Raven answers immediately, and you sag in relief. Your best friend knows exactly when to be serious, and now is one of those times. “What do I need to pick up?”

You rattle off the things Lexa will need, and probably a few items that aren’t entirely necessary, but you want to be prepared for anything. Raven promises to drop them by within the hour. Feeling better as you hang up, you go to check on Lexa.

Your girlfriend has managed to bury herself beneath her mountains of blankets, and the only signs of life are her heavy breaths clearly audible from under the fabric. You shake your head exasperatedly. You cross the room to lift the quilt from her face, giving her some fresh air to breathe. Lexa’s fallen asleep, which is probably best right now until you can get some medicine shoved into her and some food. She could probably use a shower too, but that can wait until she’s a bit stronger.

There’s plenty of room for you to slide in next to Lexa, and you do, knowing you have time before Raven shows up. You gently tug Lexa into your chest, where she curls up with a small sigh. Her vulnerability in this moment tugs at your heart. She’s told you about her past, and how it made her strong, and seeing her allow you to be here when she’s at her weakest tells you just how much she trusts you.

“Clarke?” Lexa murmurs quietly, not opening her eyes as she burrows her face into your collarbone.

You hold her closer to you, tightening your grip ever so slightly. “Yeah, pretty girl?”

“I love you.”

Time stands still. Lexa’s words reverberate through your mind, playing over and over again. _I love you_.

_I love you_.

Your own eyes close as you freeze this moment. You want to remember this for the rest of your life. Lexa said ‘I love you’ first. You’d wanted to say it after your fifth date, when you had been tipsy and Lexa had been drunk, and she somehow managed to threaten your life while trying (not very well) to get in your pants. You’d known it then, but it had been too soon.

But now Lexa has practically whispered it to you, sick and half asleep, but you know she meant it. You’re not sure she’ll _remember_ saying it, but you know she meant it. You’ve seen it a thousand times in the last few months. It glows in her eyes – her love for you.

“I love you too, Lexa,” you murmur back reverently, pressing a kiss to her forehead and then one to the tip of her shoulder where her scar lies. Over the last couple months you’ve taken to showing affection to that spot, trying to tell your girlfriend without words that no horrible event she brings up about her past will ever scare you away. “I love you too.”

\--------------------

The next week, you’re the one who falls ill, and Lexa gleefully makes fun of you for gloating about how superior you were for working in a hospital and having a flu shot. She willfully ignores you when you try to explain that there are different strains of the flu and the vaccine doesn’t protect against each one. You’re never going to live this down.

She turns out to be an excellent caretaker, even if she _does_ insist on driving you crazy as she looks after you.

You love her anyway. And you make sure she knows it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appear unable to let this universe go. There'll probably be more, so if there's something specific you want to see, give me a shout and I'll try to incorporate it!


	2. To Capture Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the progression of their relationship, Lexa wants Clarke to know all of her. Even if it makes her run.
> 
> Or
> 
> Clarke learns about Lexa's troubled past and how she survived, and she just wants to get closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually introduced angst to this series. Who knew? I'm posting this as both a sort of a birthday present to myself and also as a celebration for finishing my first round of grad school exams. There's a bit of discussing violent events in the latter half of the chapter, so just forewarning. And I promise the next chapter, whatever it is, will be happier. 
> 
> For those of you who have read Fight Me, which for this chapter I suggest you do, the first part takes place after Chapter 2, and the last little bit takes place after Chapter 4. Also chronologically, it's takes place before this story's first chapter.

  _August 16, 2014_

You are currently at war with yourself. You and Clarke have been dating for just over a month. It’s been a week and a half since your disastrous attempt at getting into Clarke’s pants, and you and the blonde nurse have both been too busy to see much of each other besides a quick lunch date when your schedules miraculously lined up. Tonight is the first time you’ve spent a significant amount of time together in eleven days.

The two of you have just started to move past the ‘get to know you’ fact sharing stage, delving deeper into your pasts – though not too deep. You know Clarke doesn’t speak with her mother, but you don’t know why. Clarke knows you’re an orphan, but she doesn’t know what you went through after your parents died. You want Clarke to be able to trust you with herself, but you’re starting to think that maybe you need to share your inner thoughts first.

Clarke needs to know the mess of you that she’s getting herself into. You wouldn’t blame her for backing out once she knows about your past. It can be a lot to deal with. Costia couldn’t handle it, and she’d left. The only person who has stuck with you through your whole life is Anya, because she was there when it went to shit.

Your parents died when you were fifteen. Car accident.

Old enough for you to be angry at the world, but too young to do anything about it. Life was great, and then it was gone. Your parents died, and you were the one that ended up in hell.

Whoever tries to play up the foster care and only shows advertisements about cute young kids finding their ‘forever homes’ isn’t telling even close to the whole story. Or the snobby people who only share horror stories about rebellious and violent teens running away or assaulting their foster parents – they don’t say anything about the good kids that fell through the cracks. That got lost and taken advantage of by the system. Good kids like Tris.

“Lexa?” Clarke nudges you, trying to get your attention.

You jerk yourself out of your dark thoughts. “Huh?”

Clarke is looking at you with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Um…actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

The nurse takes one look at you and turns off the TV show you hadn’t been paying attention to and twists on the couch so she can see all of you, a serious expression on her face. “Tell me.”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the first hurdle. “First, I need to show you something. Then, I can explain.” Clarke nods, so you begin removing your shirt. She gives you an odd look, which makes you smile. “This isn’t some weird sexual scheme,” you reassure her. “I’m not a sixteen year old boy.”

Clarke laughs, and you pull your shirt off. You can see her eyes start to drift down, but she quickly corrects her gaze back to your face. You grin, feeling just a bit smug at the slightly dazed expression that had filmed her eyes when she saw your abs before she snapped out of it. “Give me your hand,” you murmur, reaching out. Clarke obliges, and you carefully bring it up to trace along the back of your right shoulder. She gasps softly and her eyes narrow as she feels the long, dramatic scar that mars your skin for exactly 7.6 inches – 19.3 centimeters, according to your physical therapist from when you were sixteen.

Clarke urges you to turn around so she can inspect the old wound more closely. You obey hesitantly. Costia had been okay up to this point as well. She hadn’t been able to cope with the mental trauma you still carried to this day. The guilt you deal with every waking moment.

“What happened?” Clarke whispers. She places a butterfly-light kiss on your scar, making you shiver.

“In the foster system, people only talk about two sides. The glowing review – kids getting adopted, living healthy lives – or the dark side. Broody teenagers who turn violent and end up in prison for attacking their foster families,” you explain bluntly. “Nobody likes to talk about the normal kids that just want to live their lives. To grow up and be able to make their own decisions. Ones too old or too difficult, but not difficult enough for social workers to really care. Those kids – ones like me and Tris – we just float along, just trying to survive until we age out.”

You feel an arm wrap around your bare waist, pulling you back into Clarke’s chest. You relax into her just a bit, allowing yourself the tiny comfort. “Who is Tris?” she asks quietly.

“I was sixteen. She was eight. She’d already been in the system for so long, she knew the odds of her getting out were slim. I knew I was too old. Too old to want replacements for my parents. We bonded, despite the age difference. The house we were in didn’t help. The man was an alcoholic – he used to scream at his wife at night. Curse her. He made it clear Tris and I were only there because of the paycheck. He didn’t care if we went to school, ate. Lived. His wife tried to care for us when she could, but he would just yell some more. He always cleaned up real nice for the social worker visits, though. Threatened that we wouldn’t eat for a week if we complained. Tris was too scared to speak up, so I kept quiet as well.”

You tighten your hands into fists, furious with yourself to this day. “I should have said something. Done something. I could have taken Tris – run away. Gone to the police. Anything. But I was sixteen and my parents had _just_ died.” You choke, unable to go on.

A soothing hand runs through your hair. Clarke presses a kiss just behind your ear. “What happened?” she inquires, gently urging you to go on. To let your anguish out.

With a deep breath, you continue. “One day, I got home late from school. I was working on a project in the library because I knew it’d never get done if I took it to the house with _him_ around. He’d taken to pushing Tris and I around, but he hadn’t gotten too violent, so I told Tris to wait for me in the back yard and then we’d go in together.”

You stop again, your breathing getting erratic as your eyes sting with tears. Clarke lets go of you, and your tears almost fall at the rejection, but she’s just turning you around so you can look at her. “Hey,” she murmurs, her hands cupping your cheeks and her thumbs swiping your tears away. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” she reassures you.

You stare desperately into her eyes, searching for the resolve to go on. “She had to go to the bathroom,” you finally say with a dark chuckle. “She just had to pee, she told me. She went inside, and he was there. He was angry, as usual, but this time, he got really physical. That’s what I came home to. I heard loud voices as I walked up the driveway, so I ran inside just as Tris hit him. He shoved her. Hard. Tris fell backwards and her head hit the counter. She just – collapsed.” You shake your head, remembering that horrible moment. “I lost it. I started kicking him, hitting him with my backpack. Anything I could reach, I used as a weapon.”

Clarke’s hand finds your scar again, tracing it with her fingertips. “How did this happen?”

You swallow. “I managed to trip him. While he was on the ground, I ran to check on Tris and call 911. I was distracted, and he pulled out a knife from the block on the counter and stabbed me.”

The hand still on your shoulder tightens so quickly that you wince. Clarke immediately lets go. “I’m so sorry!” she worries, kissing your arm. “I just – how could he – you were kids.”

“He was drunk and furious. So luckily, his aim was shit. The bone protected most of me. It hurt like a bitch, but I managed to grab a pan and hit him upside the head. He dropped like a stone.”

Clarke gives you a tiny, sad smile. “Brave little Rapunzel,” she teased weakly.

Miraculously, it pulls a laugh from you. You give your girlfriend a quick kiss and steel yourself to go on. “I called 911 and passed out a minute or two later. I woke up when the paramedics got there and tried to explain that they needed to take care of Tris, but I lost consciousness again. They took all three of us to the hospital. He had a concussion and was released to the police that evening. They couldn’t stop my back bleeding in the ambulance – I needed a transfusion and they kept me overnight. I woke up the next morning. Tris – Before I passed out, she was conscious. Barely. She told me she just needed to pee. He’d been angry – she didn’t know what about. Then she just faded out.”

You shake your head. “Tris never woke up again. They charged him with second degree murder and attempted murder. I testified. His wife even plucked up her courage and testified against him about his past abuse. He was convicted and sentenced to life. Anya convinced her parents to let me live with them until we graduated high school.”

Finally, you’re done. Now, all you can do is wait to see how Clarke will react. Costia – she had loved you, but ultimately she couldn’t deal with your pain. You want to believe Clarke will be different.

“You think it’s your fault Tris died,” Clarke guesses.

You flinch. “If I had been home _five minutes_ earlier, I could have stopped it,” you tell her. “I should have taken Tris to school with me, but I didn’t want to be distracted. I should have called 911 the second I heard the yelling from outside.” You scoff. “I was selfish, and it killed her.”

Clarke violently shakes her head. “No. No, you can’t blame yourself for what that man did. You feel sad, you feel horrible about it, that’s perfectly natural and there is _nothing_ wrong with that. Do you hear me?” You nod shakily. “But the _only_ person that is to blame for anything that happened to you and Tris is that man. He took advantage of two children he was supposed to care for and protect. He took advantage of his wife, who was supposed to protect you as well. If you want to start victim blaming, you’d better start blaming her as well, because at least she was an adult.”

You shake your head. “She tried to take care of us. She got it worse than we did most of the time.”

“At least she’s still alive. But do you see how if you can’t blame her, you can’t blame yourself?” Clarke asks.

For a long time, you can’t move. Years, you’ve blamed yourself. For not being there, for not getting home fast enough, for not protecting Tris. Tears slowly track down your cheeks as Clarke’s words sink in. Your girlfriend patiently wipes them away in silence, allowing you the time to work through your guilt and relief at the absolution Clarke offers you. “I just –” You can’t finish.

“I know,” Clarke murmurs, scooting closer and pulling you into her until you’re nearly in her lap. You press your face into the crook of her neck, letting your tears drip onto her shirt. “I know,” Clarke says again. “You feel like there’s _something_ you should have done – some way to have prevented the inevitable. And all you can do sometimes is look back on that day and the weeks leading up to it and try to come up with some version where everything turns out alright. Some little adjustment you could have made and everything would have been fine, because then you would know that there’s a reason for the blame you put on yourself. And when the solution isn’t obvious, you feel guilty about that as well and it’s just this vicious cycle.”

You don’t ask how Clarke understands your mind so perfectly. How she has the perfect words and what she had to go through to understand you. You’re just so, _so_ grateful that she hasn’t run away yet. And you know she’ll tell you someday. When she’s ready. And you’ll listen attentively and be there for her the way she has been for you.

But for now, you just cry a little harder – like you haven’t in a decade – and Clarke holds you a little tighter and everything feels just a bit better and lighter than before.

* * *

_November 5, 2019_

“Is this –?” you can’t finish your question as you stare down at the piece of paper Clarke handed you the minute you walked in the door from work. You had been a little confused since the nurse was supposed to be at Ark for the afternoon/evening shift, so why she was home at five o’clock was a mystery. But now you’re holding this piece of paper with a doctor’s signature and you desperately hope it means what you think it means.

Clarke nods, a tear shining in the corner of her eye. “I’m pregnant,” your wife affirms. “I wasn’t at work today. I called in sick and went to a gynecologist and she confirmed it.”

As the news sinks in, a grin slowly spreads across your cheeks. You choke out a laugh, grabbing Clarke and lifting her into a tight hug. She giggles and embraces you, her arms secure around your shoulders. Finally, when you’ve calmed and set her down, you inspect the test results again. It seems too good to be true. Clarke is pregnant. You’re going to be parents.

“I want to name her Tris,” Clarke brings up suddenly, making you stiffen. You stare at her with wide eyes. Clarke bites her lip, now unsure. “I just – she was so important to you, and I know you still miss her, so if it’s a girl, I thought we could name her Tris?”

You can’t breathe. You and Clarke have been together for five years, married for three, and you don’t talk about your foster sister often, but every once in a while Clarke will ask you a random question. Like what did she want to be when she grew up (A ‘warrior’). What was her favorite animal (Horses, like every eight year old girl). And the more you talked about her, the more good things you remembered about Tris, and you will never be able to thank Clarke enough for giving that back to you. Now when you think about your sister, you see more than just blood. You remember her laugh, and all the pranks she played on you (one horrible one involved spiders), and how she hated math with all her being. You see her mischievous face and how she propped her hands on her hips when she was mad.

“I love you so much,” you breathe.

“So, yeah?” Clarke asks nervously.

You sweep your wife into your arms again, clinging to her desperately. “Yes, I would love nothing more than to name her Tris,” you promise, making Clarke relax into you. “Thank you.”

You and Clarke cuddle on the couch for the remainder of the day and well into the night, talking about your plans and what you hope for your child and whether they’ll look like you or not. At moments you still wonder how you got so lucky, even today, and this is one of those times.

A thought occurs to you. “If we do have a girl, and we name her Tris, can her middle name be Abigail?” you ask pensively.

Clarke tenses beside you, and you wonder if you’ve just made the worst mistake of your life. Clarke, at your gentle urging years ago, had reached out to her mother just after you proposed. You hadn’t wanted your then fiancée to ever have any regrets, and if a reconciliation was possible, you wanted Clarke to have that. Shortly thereafter, you had met your now mother-in-law, and Clarke had salvaged a genial relationship with Abby, though they would never be as close as they had once been. But you know that despite everything, Clarke loves her mother so much – which is probably why it is so hard for her to forgive Abby for the circumstances surrounding Jake’s death.

“It was just an idea – if it makes you uncomfortable I won’t mention it again,” you try to give Clarke an out. “We have plenty of time to find the perfect name.”

Clarke moves from where she was leaning against your chest and the ache in your stomach grows at the thought of just how badly you may have messed this up. But when Clarke looks at you, there’s no anger in her eyes. Just a hint of tender sadness. “Dad would be so jealous,” she tells you with a small laugh before crushing you with her embrace.

You chuckle and kiss your wife’s forehead and then her nose. “Well, if we ever have a son, Jake can be included too.” Clarke’s hug only tightens.

* * *

Two years later, after Trisana Abigail Griffin-Woods takes your world by storm, Aiden comes to you in a quiet moment. And when he comes to you with no middle name, you and Clarke just know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the ideas! I will try to incorporate as many as I can, and if you think of any others you'd like to see, send them on over either down below or just shoot an ask to 'fairytaleslayer' on Tumblr. I'm usually on there a few times a day. The response to the first chapter was amazing and I can't wait to give you guys some more!


	3. And Bring You Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're just going to look. Just looking. That's all it is. Not doing anything but look.
> 
> Or
> 
> Clarke and Lexa are totally getting a dog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so DangerouslyCasualAttitude and Bigbadbey both wanted me to write puppy!AU for the gross and happy couple, and I deliver. It's not EXACTLY what you wanted guys, but I hope you're pleased anyways.
> 
> (The chapter titles are from the song 'Storm Song' by Phildel, an amazing Irish Chinese singer I suggest you check out)

_May 19, 2015_

Lexa is practically bouncing in her seat, she’s so excited. You glance amusedly at her whenever you can pull your eyes from the road. You wonder if you should be insulted that she didn’t seem this thrilled when you moved in with her a couple months ago.

“Remember, we’re _just_ looking,” you remind her. “Nothing’s decided.”

Your toddler of a girlfriend nods ecstatically. You shake your head. There’s only one way this day is going to go, you know it already. The trick will be reining in Lexa’s enthusiasm when she sees all the dogs the shelter has on offer.

You did some research of the place before this morning. It’s a no-kill shelter – Lexa wouldn’t be able to handle a high-kill pound and would have somehow convinced you to take home the entire place. Baby steps. You’ll start here.

“Just remember, we’re _maybe_ looking for a puppy,” you stress. Lexa’s always wanted a dog. She confessed that to you a while ago. Her parents hadn’t lived in a place that allowed pets, and when she became an adult, there was never a right time. Now, she can’t hold still at the thought that you guys could go home with a new dog today.

You’re a little less confident about the whole concept. You love animals – all kinds – but you’re more of the ‘visit, play with, love on, and leave’ variety of animal lover. Between being a hotshot defense lawyer and a _very_ overworked nurse, you’re not sure you and your girlfriend have the time to raise, train, and keep up with a puppy’s energy with how many hours you both work a week. It wouldn’t be fair to the dog. But when Lexa had brought it up hopefully with the most adorable expression on her face, you couldn’t help agreeing to go _look._

‘Look’ being the key word, there.

You pull into the shelter parking lot, and Lexa’s out of the car before you can even get the key out. Rolling your eyes fondly, you follow, catching up to where your girlfriend is at the entrance, practically vibrating with eagerness. She graciously lets you go in first, but then she’s off.

The shelter lets you look around freely – a staff member, Harper, greets you politely before going about her business, telling you to come find her if you want to look at an animal more closely. Lexa’s working her way down the aisle of pens, making a quick stop at every one to kneel down and carefully fit her fingers through the chain link fence for each dog to sniff. You cringe and hope your girlfriend comes home with all ten digits.

You’re walking at a more casual pace, letting Lexa enjoy herself as you admire the dogs from a standing position. You lose sight of your girlfriend, but she’ll turn up again at some point. You keep moving, all the dogs eagerly whining and bouncing at the gates, hoping for your attention.

But the sight of one cage catches your eye. You stop to look more carefully. Inside, an older dog – a beautiful russet colored retriever with gray starting to show on his muzzle and creeping up his face – stares at you with the most soulful eyes you’ve ever seen from an animal. He’s a little small for a retriever, more the size of a Labrador, but he’s gorgeous and you don’t understand what he’s doing here.

You go over to his gate, getting down on your knees. He stares at you intently, but not hopefully, and it makes your heart ache. It’s not until you reach your fingers through the fence that he gets up on slightly creaky legs to come over and sniff each of your fingers before licking the tips carefully.

His gentleness makes you smile, reminding you of Lexa. You spend a while petting him, doing your best to get your fingers far enough through the fence to get behind his ears. The longer you are with him, the more readily his tail wags.

Eventually, Lexa comes looking for you, Harper trailing after her. Lexa crouches down next to you to give the russet dog some scratches of her own. “I see you’ve met Bodey,” Harper says with a smile. “We’re all really fond of him – he’s the sweetest thing.”

“Why hasn’t anyone taken him?” Lexa inquires. You’re wondering the same thing as Bodey rubs his head against your palm.

Harper just shrugs. “Everyone wants puppies,” she explains. “His owner passed away and their son dropped Bodey here off the next day. He couldn’t take the old boy with him back across the country, although he was sad to let him go. Do you want to see him?”

Lexa looks at you and you nod. Harper pulls out a key and lets you both inside. You sit down against the fence and Bodey immediately curls up at your side. Lexa takes your other side. Harper smiles at the cute sight. “Can you tell us some more about him?” Lexa asks, and Harper is all too happy to oblige.

“Well, Bodey’s eleven. Trained, housebroken, the whole shebang. He still wants to play a little and will, but mostly he enjoys sleeping. He likes to think he’s eighteen.”

You snort out a laugh. You’d be playing it up too if you were as old as him.

“He likes to lay down on a blanket and be loved on. He’s a really great dog, but everyone always passes up on him because at best they’ll get five or six more good years with him.” Harper spends a little more time with you before going back to her chores, telling you to call for her if you need any more help or reach a decision.

As soon as she’s gone, Lexa turns to you. “You want him, don’t you?” she asks.

You sigh. “Do you, is the question,” you counter. “This was about you, and I know you wanted a puppy. I knew we weren’t going home without a dog today, but this was supposed to be your decision.”

Lexa just shakes her head. “I want _a_ dog,” she corrects you. “I don’t need a puppy. And it should be _our_ decision. It’s not just going to my dog, and if you want Bodey, I want Bodey,” she decides firmly. “He’ll make a perfect first pet. We won’t even have to potty train him, and I know you were dreading that. How we’re ever going to have kids is beyond me. You’ll run at the first dirty diaper and leave me all alone,” she moans dramatically.

Despite her antics, your stomach and heart are doing cartwheels and flip flops at Lexa’s words. She just spoke about kids and first pets like her future with you was set in stone. Sure, you were living together now, but talking about being parents was on a whole different level. Lexa is in this for the long haul and it takes your breath away.

You lean over quickly and surprise your girlfriend with a hard kiss. You feel her lips quirk up, but she doesn’t break the kiss until you pull back. “I swear not to leave you _all_ the dirty diapers,” you whisper. Lexa’s eyes shine at your words, catching the implicit promise held within them.

“So we’re taking Bodey?” she asks hopefully.

You can’t help but laugh, dropping your head back against the chain link fence and petting Bodey’s head that had at some point worked its way sneakily into your lap. You _knew_ you weren’t going home without a dog today. That’s why you’d refused the bet with Raven. “Yeah, we’re taking Bodey,” you agree.

Harper is ecstatic that you and Lexa decide to adopt Bodey, happy that he’s finally going to a good home. On the way back to your apartment, you and Lexa stop at a PetSmart and pick out the comfiest looking bed you can find. You also make sure to grab ‘senior’ dog food (you’re not sure there’s really a difference, but Lexa insisted), treats (“What if he gets hungry between meals, Clarke? We can’t _starve_ him!), and a few toys that go easy on the teeth. All in all, you think you spend an exorbitant amount, but Lexa’s happy, and you hope Bodey will be happy, so you’re happy too.

* * *

Bodey is yours for the next five years – five of the most important of yours and Lexa’s lives. He saw you through early mornings when Lexa would drag you out to go ‘jogging’ with her (you calmly walked Bodey while Lexa ran laps around the two of you before taking him to play a little tag). He was a comforting presence as you began rebuilding your relationship with Abby. He was there when you and Lexa got married – slightly more gray around the eyes but still lively. He even made it into some of your wedding photos.

Looking back, you think most importantly, Bodey was there when Tris was born. At fourteen, he’d begun slowing down and having a harder time getting around, but he was the perfect bodyguard and playmate for your tiny, infant daughter. She slept curled up against him on her blanket, played patty cake with his nose, pulled his ears and tail, and Bodey took it all like the champion he was. And when Tris took her first hesitant steps, it was with her little fists clenched in his hair while you coaxed her to you and Lexa filmed the whole thing.

In the end, Bodey passes away quietly in his sleep just after his sixteenth birthday. Lexa is a mess for weeks, never having lost a pet before. Tris is just figuring out words and says Bodey’s name over and over, wondering where her best friend went. You’re stuck trying to figure out how this dog became so necessary to all of you, caught between comforting your wife, your daughter, and crying a little bit yourself.

One afternoon, at a loss, you pull up the video of Tris’ first steps on your iPad and let your daughter sit on your lap and watch it. When she sees Bodey, it’s the first time she’s smiled all day. Lexa comes home from work as you’re going through all your old movies with Bodey in them, and she plants herself down on the couch next to you just in time to watch your dog trying to pick up a Frisbee off of concrete and struggling mightily. Tris laughs, and so does Lexa, and that’s when you know you’ll all be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ask for dogs and then you wonder why your heart feels torn to shreds. Dogs do that to you. Thanks for making me almost tear up, guys...
> 
> If you want to lose your heart a little more, take a look at Bodey:
> 
> http://files.dogster.com/pix/dogs/19/419/1.jpg


	4. Carried on the Breeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke's not one for exercise. At all. But Lexa can "beat the shit out of her" and that doesn't happen without effort.
> 
> Or
> 
> Lexa has abs and Clarke is seeing them in a whole new way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jayenator565 requested seeing Clarke and Lexa thirsting after each other. I was going to write them both together, but it's late and I work early and I wanted to give you something super nice after the last couple of chapters seemed to get people down a bit. So you get Clarke being thirsty as fuck today and Lexa being the same in the next chapter whenever it gets written. 
> 
> Also, I changed the rating because there is a tiny bit of smut in here (which I don't really do at all but the situation called for it) so just a heads up. Enjoy!

_July 31, 2015_

You’re a bit skeptical about the whole workout idea as a concept. Sure, you enjoy walking Bodey on those godawful mornings that Lexa drags you out of bed, and you like the occasional trip that involves hiking in nature. It feeds your artistic side and gives it inspiration. It also feels like recharging your batteries after the hustle and noise of Ark Hospital.

So, you guess you like exercising when it has some kind of aesthetic or personal gain for you. But running for the hell of it? Or lifting weights? In a dark, windowless open air box? You don’t see the point of that and it absolutely baffles your mind that Lexa loves it. Like – she _adores_ it. She must get some kind of crazy sympathetic response in her nervous system that just doesn’t happen with you, and it makes her feel amazing while you just want to curl up on a couch and die a little bit.

To be fair, the first time Lexa drags you to her gym, you have to retract the statement of it being dark and windowless. One of its walls is made up entirely of windows, and there is plenty of natural light streaming in. Still, as Lexa goes to find Anya to spar with, you ditch the building for their pool and swim some laps. If you have to get some kind of activity in, you’re doing it outside. You spend enough time cooped up in the hospital.

It takes a few more months of Lexa occasionally coaxing you to the gym before she actually gets you to spend time with her during her workout. “Please,” she cajoles you. “You don’t even have to do anything. You can spot me while I lift weights, or whatever. I haven’t had time to go to the gym all week because of this case, but I want to spend time with you, too.”

Well. When she says it that way – all sweet, like – how can you refuse? “Fine,” you agree reluctantly. “But I better not have to save you when you drop your weights.”

“I’ve never dropped them.”

“Watch today be my lucky day.”

Despite your reticence, you dutifully tag along when Lexa makes her way to the weight room. She tugs off her shirt so she’s only in a sports bra and stretches out her limbs, and you can tell this is something she’s practiced for years. Each move is efficient and designed to limber up a different part of her body. You admire the way her muscles move beneath her skin. Lexa is proud of her body, and you know she has reason to be. You’ve spent enough time lavishing attention to her abs to know just how toned her muscles are.

But you’ve never seen them as they strained to lift the weight of the bar above them, and you can’t help your mouth dropping open just a little bit as you watch, prepared to _maybe_ catch the weight if she drops it (you hope she doesn’t because she’s bench pressing about a hundred and twenty-five pounds and you don’t think you can lift that much).

Lexa blows out a breath as she lifts the bar again, and you swallow roughly and lick your lips. Every muscle from her waist up is flexed, and you really think you should accompany Lexa to the gym more often if this is the view you’re going to be treated with. She’s working up just the tiniest bit of sweat now, and the urge to have her right there is nearly overwhelming.

“Uh, Clarke?” Lexa brings you out of your daze.

“Uh-huh?” you reply absentmindedly.

“You mind grabbing this?” You jerk back to yourself, hurriedly taking part of the weight from Lexa and helping guide it back to the stand so your girlfriend could slither off the bench. She stands in front of you, looking at you oddly. “What were you thinking about? I had to call you twice?” she asks bewilderedly.

You gulp. “I was thinking – I was thinking we have to do something else.” You nod decisively. “Yeah. We have to go do something somewhere else. Now.” You grab Lexa’s hand and begin pulling her toward the locker room.

“Something else? But I just started –” Lexa shuts up when you tug her into a shower stall and push her up against the door. Her moan when you shove your hand down her basketball shorts is so loud that you have to stifle it and all the following ones with a kiss. It doesn’t take Lexa long to become as worked up as you are with two fingers as deep as you can get them and your thumb on her clit, and she comes with your hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.

After giving your girlfriend a short time to recover, you drag her home with you and have her once more on the couch before you make it to the bedroom. Luckily, Octavia had taken Bodey for the day so he isn’t there to disturb you, as he has the habit of coming in to investigate just when you and Lexa are really finding your rhythm.

Much later, Lexa turns on her side to fix smug eyes on you. “Does this mean you’ll come to the gym with me more often now?” she inquires knowingly.

You sigh and roll your eyes at her. “Shut up and go to sleep,” you mutter. Lexa just laughs so you pull her into another kiss to shut her up and then flip her around so you can cuddle into her back. “Sleep now,” you mumble tiredly.

Blessedly, Lexa obeys.

* * *

You _do_ go to the gym with Lexa more often afterwards and with _much_ less convincing needed.

Lexa never lets you forget the reason why.

You always scoff, but it’s hard to deny when you can never help dragging her to the nearest private vertical surface every time you see Lexa’s abs straining and flexing. Honestly, it’s a problem (you’re pretty sure half of Lexa’s gym knows what to expect whenever you accompany her to her workout), but it’s one you thank every possible god ever for giving you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can hit me up on tumblr at 'fairytaleslayer' and yell at me there or just hang out. I'm pretty chill and have lots of pictures of 'Clexa' and puppies and space for you to waste time looking at.


	5. Burning Like a Slow Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honeymoon in Hawaii, what on earth could go wrong?
> 
> Or
> 
> It's Lexa's turn to be thirsty as fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm totally burnt from my latest exam, so I decided to use my creative side and rest my science side for a bit and bust this chapter out. Hopefully now I can go study for my next exam. Enjoy!
> 
> And shout out to Jayenator565 again for giving me these two being uncontrollable around each other, and also Vyndanion who wanted to see them on their honeymoon. Thanks for the suggestions, guys!
> 
> (Also, barest hint of smut again)

_January 27, 2017_

You’re woken from a deep sleep when soft lips press against your bare shoulder. You can’t help a tiny smile as they work their way across your back, down the scar on your other shoulder, and then back up to your neck. Your eyes remain closed as you feign sleep.

“Lexa, I know you’re awake,” Clarke’s voice sounds from above you where she’s straddling your hips. “Come on, pretty girl, don’t sleep the day away.”

The fact that you can’t tell if Clarke is wearing clothes or not is enough to make you roll over and open your eyes. Clarke lifts up on her knees to accommodate you before sinking back down onto your thighs. “Good morning,” she murmurs, giving you a kiss.

You smile. “Good morning, wife,” you reply.

Clarke chuckles, kissing you on the nose once before scooting off of you and the bed. Sadly, you note, she _is_ wearing clothes, but they show plenty of skin. You can’t take your eyes off her, and your new wife knows it.

The two of you have been married for two days (two days nine hours, and thirty – you check the clock – eight minutes), and you’re still marveling in the fact that you somehow married the most beautiful woman on the planet.

“Lexa, if you refuse to get up, then you won’t get to see what I’m wearing underneath this tank,” Clarke warns from her spot by the sink. “And I picked it out especially for you, so I’d get my ass moving if I were you.”

You throw yourself out of bed and stroll across the room to find some beach appropriate attire. Clarke may be dressed, but you are still bare from your activities last night, and you know you look good. It’s Clarke’s turn to stare, and she makes no secret about it.

It’s cliché, but you and Clarke chose Hawaii as your honeymoon spot. Neither of you have ever been, and you especially were all too glad to be able to escape the cold of a New York January to spend nine days in the sun and waves. You grab your swim top and board shorts and pull them on quickly. Clarke is ready and bouncing excitedly, eager to get to the beach.

“Do you think we should call Octavia?” you ask as you grab a baseball cap and slip it on backwards. You’re leaving your hair down, since Clarke loves it that way, but you don’t want it blowing in your face.

“Oh my god,” Clarke groans. “You need to stop worrying. Octavia has babysat Bodey dozens of times. He loves her – they’ll be fine.”

“Okay, okay, sorry,” you say sheepishly. “I’ll stop. Just you and me, I promise.”

“Good. But we can call tonight. I miss him too.” Clarke gives you a kiss before heading for the door.

“Sunscreen?” you remind her. While you merely tan, Clarke’s paler complexion easily turns red in the sun.

Clarke nods over at a large bag that seems to be full of something – you don’t know what. “In there. I also had the hotel send up some lunch so we don’t have to leave this afternoon. I was busy this morning while you were lazy. You must have been tired from last night,” she explains smugly.

“Pleasing you is a full time job,” you tease back. Clarke huffs in mock annoyance and shoves you half-heartedly, but lets you steal a kiss as you laugh. “Worth it,” you murmur.

Your wife smiles sweetly up at you, the scant inch difference in height between the two of you only apparent when you are this close to each other. “Have I told you how much I love you?” she asks.

You grin. “Yes. Two days ago, in your vows.”

Clarke hums. “Well, I love you more now.”

You're thinking about just taking Clarke back to bed and not leaving it for the next week until you go home, but your wife turns and picks up the bag she’d packed while you slept. “Let me,” you urge, going to grab it from her. “You did all the work setting today up while I slept. I can do the heavy lifting.”

* * *

Clarke has your entire day planned out, including which beach she wants to go to, and as long as you’re with her, you don’t much care where you end up, so you follow happily along. You’ve laid out the blanket Clarke had placed in the bag and you’re grabbing a quick drink when Clarke’s voice breaks into your thoughts. “Could you do my back?”

You turn, already reaching for the sunscreen, but you freeze at the sight of your stunning wife.

You almost spit out your mouthful of water. How have you never seen her in a bikini before? You gulp, the liquid seeming to catch in your overly tight throat. Also, why have you not taken Clarke to a beach before this moment? Sure, you’ve seen her in a swimsuit, but that was at the gym when she wore something more appropriate for any kids that might be running around while their parents worked out. This – you’ve never seen anything like this.

Right now, Clarke is the most gorgeous, ethereal being you’ve ever laid eyes on, and you’ve seen her naked. So many times. Naked – all the time. But you haven’t seen her in the sun, in a plain turquoise bikini, as she lays on her stomach basking in the rays. You gulp once more. God help you, this may be the longest afternoon of your life, and that includes waiting for Clarke to walk down the aisle last Saturday.

“Lexa?” Clarke asks, still holding out the bottle of lotion. “You alright?”

You take a deep breath, trying to get control over your hormones. “Mm hmm,” you barely manage. You accept the sunscreen from her, and pour some into your palm. You’re careful to use only one hand, moving her hair out of the way with your other as you scan the beach for possible onlookers. There’s an older couple walking along the shore, but they probably won’t stay long. A few kids are playing in the waves, but they’re a good quarter mile away. Other than that, you surprisingly have the beach to yourselves.

As you continue rubbing lotion into Clarke’s lower back, your clean hand slips down to caress your wife’s stomach. You feel the hitch in her breath, and you press onward, inching your fingers toward the strap of her swim bottoms.

“Lex,” Clarke gasps, “someone will see.”

“We’re safe for now,” you reassure her, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. “Do you know how hot you look right now?” you ask her as one hand finds its way under her suit and the other massages her shoulders. “Do you know what this is doing to me?” You finger at her bikini top.

Clarke squirms under you, trying to get your hand to go further. “What I’d hoped, but I didn’t think you’d be brave enough to try something here. I thought you’d be too polite.”

“You seriously underestimate your appeal, love,” you inform her.

Your wife huffs a laugh. “Your smooth talk has gotten much better since we first started dating.” Her chuckle cuts off abruptly as your hand finds her heat.

“What can I say?” you breathe into her ear as you press harder against her clit, making Clarke groan. “You bring out the best in me.” Two fingers find their way to her entrance.

Clarke comes quicker than normal, and you think maybe the thrill of perhaps being caught spurs her on. After, she falls asleep, and you watch her fondly for a while, hardly able to believe that this woman is yours. That you get to be hers. You are so grateful that Clarke broke hospital rules two years ago to bring you that cup of hot chocolate with her phone number attached.

You eventually cuddle up next to your wife, sharing a blanket and reading _Neverwhere_ as you run your fingertips up and down Clarke’s back. It’s another hour before Clarke stirs, slowly clawing her way back to wakefulness. You press a kiss to her nose, and she opens her eyes with a smile on her face.

“If I’d known you’d react that strongly, I would have worn a bikini sooner,” Clarke murmurs, wiggling her way under your arms to settle on your chest. You lay your arms on top of her, book still open but forgotten for the moment.

“About as out of control as you whenever you watch me work out,” you admit. Clarke blushes slightly, which makes you grin.

“Guess we’re even, then.”

“I guess so, wife.”


	6. I Will Turn These Tables 'Round

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke is so, so tired, and she just can't do it anymore.
> 
> Or
> 
> Lexa seems to be gone all the time for work, and Clarke still has some fears to work through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to 100hearteyes for prompting me for this chapter. I wanted to write it, but they gave me the inspiration to do it today. 
> 
> Also, warning to one of my readers from Fight Me. I'm not gonna say your username, and I don't even know if you're reading this story, so I may just be writing to no one right now, but this is pulled from Chapter 5 of Fight Me, which you said brought up bad memories for you. Heads up if you're reading this - you may want to skip this chapter.
> 
> For everyone else, enjoy the emotional turmoil ahead!

_May 17, 2019_

You're staring at the TV on pause when you hear the door shut. It's after ten, probably nearing eleven on a Friday night, and Lexa has only just now come home.

“Clarke?” you hear Lexa ask a bit worriedly, coming to sit next to you, but you just move a bit further down the couch away from her without a word. “Clarke, babe, what’s wrong?” You can hear the hurt in her tone, but you're hurting too.

You’re silent for a long time, thinking about how you want this night to go. “Where have you been?” you finally mumble.

“The office, Clarke. They have me on this new case, and it’s complicated.”

“That’s what you said last night.”

“It was true then, as well.”

“It’s Friday night, Lex. What could be so important that they have you working until ten o'clock on a Friday night?”

“Do you not believe me? Is that the problem? Where else would I be, Clarke?” Lexa is getting defensive now, and you feel like this conversation is already spiraling out of your control. 

You sigh. “I don't know, Lex.”

“What do _you_ think I was doing, Clarke?” your wife challenges you. “Do you think I’m cheating on you, is that it?” Lexa hauls herself to her feet, stumbling a bit as now  _she_ tries to move away from _you_. “Do you think I could do that to you?”

Horror fills you. That possibility had never even crossed your mind. Lexa would never betray you like that. “Lexa, no! No, I don't think you’re cheating on me, of course I don’t! Not for a second. I just –” You groan and rise as well, walking away from Lexa.

“You what, Clarke?” Lexa is slightly calmer after your swift rebuttal, but still sounds hurt.

“I – I –” You pace back and forth, trying to put together just how you feel.

“Clarke, just tell me!”

“This house is empty, Lexa!” you finally yell. “I come home and almost every time I walk through the front door, this house is empty. Where are you?” You're crying as you slide down the wall to crash to the floor.

“I’m right here, Clarke.” Lexa is starting to cry now as well, kneeling in front of you and putting her hands on knees that are curled into your chest. “Please - I’m right here.”

“I’m so tired, Lex,” you sigh. “I’m so tired of being alone. I feel like I haven’t seen you in months. And you’re job is _so_ important - I know that. It’s selfish of me to be acting like this when people rely on you, but _I_ rely on you too. I can’t take it anymore. I miss you. I miss you so fucking much and whenever I come home and you’re not here it’s like a punch to my chest. And every time I go to bed and you're not there waiting for me it feels like someone is tearing my ribcage open. And every night I fall asleep without you in my arms it feels like someone ripped my heart out. I can’t do that anymore.”

Lexa leans over to press a kiss to your forehead. You can feel her tears, and that just makes you feel guilty for reacting this way. But you’re exhausted and you just miss your wife. 

“I’ll make changes,” Lexa promises, cupping your cheeks with both hands. “I’ll tell work that I need more time off. I’ve been there seventy hours a week for the last six months, they’ll give it to me. I’ll bring some of my work home with me. I’ll do whatever is necessary.”

“Lexa, you love your career - I don't want you to put it in jeopardy over me,” you protest even as a warm feeling spreads through your chest.

Lexa shakes her head, giving you the look that always makes you shiver. “I'm not. But you’re so much more important,” she whispers. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here.”

You fist your hand in her shirt, pulling her to sit next to you on the floor so you can curl up in her chest. “I’m to blame as well,” you murmur into her skin. “That charge position is opening up in a few months when Indra retires and I’ve been taking extra shifts to try to get it. It’s never one person’s fault in a relationship. I’m sorry for reacting like this - I shouldn’t have blamed you, but I’m just so tired.”

“I know, babe. I’m sorry. I’ll make it right.”

You and Lexa sit like that for a long time. Being able to curl into her is the most comforting feeling in the world right now. After an hour, you can feel yourself starting to doze off, relaxed for the first time in weeks. Lexa stands, and you whimper at the loss of her touch until she hushes you. Strong arms go under your knees and around your shoulders, and then you're in the air.  You quickly wrap your arms around your wife's neck, nosing into the space where it meets her shoulder. Lexa walks you to your bedroom, carefully setting you on the mattress. You sit there, merely observing as she gathers a couple large t shirts and sweats before coming back. Gently, she undresses you, banishing the dirty scrubs you hadn't bothered to take off after your shift to the floor and helping you slip on the new, more comfortable clothes.

You are content to just watch as Lexa quickly changes herself before rejoining you on the bed. She pulls down the comforter and lets you slide underneath, following behind. Usually, you’re the one holding on to her, but tonight, she cuddles up to your back, gently guiding you backward into her chest. “I’ll fix this. I promise,” Lexa swears, pressing a kiss to your neck.

“You shouldn't be the only one to have to fix this,” you protest tiredly, already half asleep. “Two way street, Lex.”

“No. You've put up with this for over half a year without one complaint. I should have realized earlier how it made you feel. I'll fix this," Lexa promises again.

You slowly turn over so you can face her. “ _We_ don't need fixing. There’s nothing wrong with _us_. I just need you to be here with me so there can be an ‘us’.”

“I’ll be here.”

“Thank you.”

“I love you, Clarke.”

“To the moon?”

“To Pluto.”

“Me too.”

You fall asleep content and safe for the first time in months.

* * *

Later that night, you wake up to find Lexa gazing at you with such a soft look you have to lean up and kiss her. You roll your wife onto her back so you can be on top of her, needing to be able to feel as much of the other woman as possible. “Did you sleep at all?”

Lexa shakes her head. “No, too busy thinking,” she admits. “It’s only been a couple hours anyways. I'm sorry for everything,” your wife murmurs, and the sadness in her voice makes your heart ache.

“There's nothing to forgive. Thank you for understanding.” You need her to know that. Lexa did nothing wrong – you just needed her. But she couldn't have known anything was the matter with you because you didn't tell her.

“What are you scared of?” Lexa asks in the gentlest tone you’ve ever heard from anyone.

And that's the crux of the matter, isn't it? What are you scared will happen? Lexa loves you – even as you were breaking, you knew this. Lexa had been devoting herself to her work, yes, but you knew it wasn't because she didn't want to be around you anymore. She simply loved her job and wanted to be the best defense lawyer possible for her clients. So what are you frightened of?

“I'm scared – I'm scared of you disappearing. When my – when Dad died,” you struggle for a moment but press on, “I didn't know because they wanted me to not be distracted. They had this plan for me, and didn't even think about how it would devastate me. How I would be affected. I'm scared that you think you need to have some plan, what you think will be best for me and what I need, when all I really want is you.” Your voice is shaking at the end. You'd thought you'd gotten past your father's death, understood, forgiven Abby, but you think now it's just been waiting, silently affecting your thoughts and worries all these years.

Lexa abruptly pulls you into her arms, holding you tightly to her. You can't help the sob that gets out, but you keep the rest in. You are unable to halt the noiseless tears though, and Lexa only holds you closer when she feels them drip onto her chin and neck. You clutch back desperately.

“Do you want to hear my plans?” Lexa finally asks quietly. You nod. “I have a lot of plans – dreams, really. But not for work. I dream about waking up next to you every morning for the rest of my life. I dream about us making pancakes together and fighting over the syrup. I want to take our dog on walks in the park and watch you stare at me when we go to the gym. I think about our future.”

“Me too,” you whisper.

Lexa lays a gentle kiss on your forehead before continuing. “Someday, I want to wake up to the sounds of our kids running through the halls and jumping on our bed to wake us up. I wonder what their laughs will sound like. I think about you being a mother and how much I want to see that. Those are my dreams, Clarke.”

You're still crying, but it slows as you listen to the beautiful future Lexa describes so well you can see it form in your head. “How many kids?” you manage.

“Two. Never good to be outnumbered.”

That gets a watery chuckle out of you. “Boys or girls?”

“Any, either, both. It doesn't matter. I worry I won’t be able to relate to a daughter, but I'll love her just the same.”

You press a kiss to her collarbone, then raise your head to give her another on her lips. Your wife returns it softly – so softly. The relief you feel at Lexa simply being near you – touching you - is almost overwhelming. “I want all of those things too. With you. So much.”

“I know, love. We'll figure this out. We'll have a day. One that's just ours. No friends, no jobs, no outside world. I'll fix something with work so I can do this. Twenty-four hours every week that are just for us. Do you think we can both do that?” Lexa asks uncertainly.

You think about it. It will be hard. Your coworkers will have to be accommodating, and Lexa's just been promoted. Taking off one day a week randomly might not sit well with her superiors. But if she's willing to try, so are you. You sit up so you can look her in the eyes. “Yes,” you reply simply.

The grin that spreads across her cheeks is irresistible, and you have to kiss it off. Your wife giggles – actually giggles – and it is the most beautiful sound you have ever heard.

* * *

You spend the rest of the night kissing and talking. Lexa has Saturday off, and you call Wells to take your afternoon shift, telling him you and Lexa are working through some stuff. As your best friend, he’s already been witness to your spiraling emotional state, so he readily agrees and wishes you luck. The unexpected day off passes with the two of you not leaving bed except for food and necessary bathroom breaks.

You haven't had sex in over a month – always too tired or one of you was simply missing from bed – so when Lexa tentatively initiates, you are enthusiastic in your response.

As you fall asleep later that evening, safely ensconced in Lexa's arms once again, you are confident that the two of you will be okay. You both still have some fears and worries to work out – communication between you needs to be better so neither of you hits the breaking point again like you had the night before. You don't want last night to happen ever again, but you think your marriage will only be stronger for it.

Lexa won't let you go.


	7. You Will See My Footprints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Best Woman, it's Anya's job to calm Lexa's nerves.
> 
> Or
> 
> Lexa is freaking out and Anya has to dredge up some patience from somewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry for being nonexistent for a couple weeks, but I'm in the middle of two quickfire rounds of exams while writing two essays, so I've had no time or energy for recreational writing at all. That said, my next test isn't for another week, so I cranked this out real quick.
> 
> Shout out to Vyndanion once again for their prompt of wanting to see the wedding and Anya being a good, not so grumpy as she can be friend. And, you get a different perspective for the first time! Yay!

_January 25, 2017_

Lexa is pacing back and forth across the small dressing room, wringing her hands anxiously. “What if I faint?” she whines a bit pitifully, even though she’ll never admit it. “What if I get sick? Or I trip?”

You just sigh and roll your eyes – she wasn’t looking when you did it but she glares likes she knows. As your best friend of sixteen years, you imagine she does. But she’s too nervous to maintain eye contact with you, and quickly looks away. “That’s not going to happen,” you reassure her impatiently. “The wedding is two hours away. Even with your shitty immune system, the odds of you coming down with a devastating illness are slim.”

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Lexa mutters, heading for the bathroom.

You grab her hand and pull her to a chair, wondering if Clarke is freaking just as badly and how Raven and Octavia are handling it. “If you spew now, you’ll mess up that fancy makeup you’ve got going on,” you remind her. She fidgets, reaching for her hair. You move the hand back to her lap before she can disturb the braids. “Lexa. Lexa.”

“Ahn, I’m scared,” she whispers.

You hold in another sigh. You haven’t seen Lexa this distraught in eleven years, since she moved into your parents’ house as a wounded and angry sixteen year old. “Okay,” you allow. “Why are you scared?”

“I just – I just want everything to be perfect. Clarke deserves everything in the world Anya, can I give that to her? She’s just so amazing and perfect but not. She’s grumpy in the mornings and she hates bacon, she doesn’t pick her clothes up off the floor and she won’t keep our toothbrushes separate, she ignores me whenever she’s painting and she holds her alcohol better than me and she just –” Lexa cuts off like she doesn’t know how to continue.

“While those are all very valid reasons for why you should break up with her immediately,” you begin seriously, breaking off and grinning in triumph when Lexa snorts. “Suck it up, kid.” You grip her by the shoulders, forcing Lexa to look up at you with her scared, green eyes that got you into so much trouble when you were young. Despite being in the same grade, Lexa was a full two years younger than you, having started school early and skipping fourth grade. You’ve always felt protective of her, even if you don’t show it. “Rexa,” you pull out her childhood nickname from her dad, making her smile tremulously, “you’ve _got_ this. Clarke is going to walk down that aisle out there and you’re gonna be waiting for her and you two are going to be the happiest, grossest couple on the face of the earth.”

“Yeah?” she asks, and you _hate_ that she still needs confirmation that she deserves this too, not just Clarke. You _hate_ what that man did to her and every time you see a reemergence of this self-doubt you wish you could _strangle_ him.

But you just smile at her, because she doesn’t need your anger on her big day. “Yeah, Lex. I am in awe and absolutely disgusted whenever I’m around you two – sometimes I can’t even _look_ at you guys because you’re so perfect for each other.”

Lexa totally ignores that last bit, which yeah, you expected, but you know that she knows that this is about as affectionate as you will ever get. “How can you be sure?”

“How am I sure of what?”

She takes a deep breath. “How do you know that I can make her happy? That we can do this marriage thing?”

“Because you already do and you already are,” you inform her staunchly. “This wedding? It’s just a dumb ceremony that people do to make it ‘official’. You and Clarke have been official for over a year – this is just a formality for your families. Got it? For some reason, Clarke loves you, and –” You laugh as Lexa scoffs and punches you in the shoulder. “No, hear me out. She laughs at your dumb jokes, she thinks you’re cute when you’re drunk, and she’s basically the Wonder Woman of all nurses. And she loves _you_.”

Suddenly, you are engulfed in strong arms as Lexa buries her face in your shoulder. Perplexed, you awkwardly pat her back when she sniffs. You quickly push her back to an upright position. “Alright no crying,” you command gruffly. “You’ll ruin that makeup.”

“It’s waterproof,” Lexa sniffs again, dabbing at her eyes with the tissue you hand over. “Standard protocol for weddings, I guess. Apparently everyone cries.”

“You will not be getting any tears from me,” you inform her immediately.

Lexa chuckles and nods. “If you cried, I’d think something had gone terribly wrong,” she admits.

“Come on, we have to finish getting you ready. Still got the cummerbund and jacket to put on.” You move to get to your feet, but Lexa grabs your hand as she follows.

“Anya, wait.” She pulls you in for a hug, and after a second of shock, you hesitantly wrap your arms around her. “Thank you,” she whispers in your ear.

You drop your arms quickly and back away. “Anytime, kiddo,” you reply. “But not anytime – seriously, don’t feel the need to do this with me ever again,” you hasten to continue. “You wanna beat the shit out of something, I’m your girl, but all this touchy-feely shit, this is a one-time thing. You’ve got Clarke for this kind of crap.”

* * *

You walk out first, with Raven and Octavia just behind you. The three of you separate at the end of the aisle, Raven and Octavia to Clarke’s side, you to Lexa’s. Lexa comes out seconds later with her older cousin, Gustus, walking her down to meet you. ‘Don’t trip,’ you mouth to her. Lexa just sticks her tongue out at you, making you grin. She does look quite stunning in a suit, even you can admit that about your best friend.

Lexa holds out her arm when she goes to you after Gustus gives her a quick hug. You grip her forearm and squeeze reassuringly before letting go. Then, Clarke appears, and Lexa only has eyes for the beautiful blonde.

Clarke is radiant, and when she catches sight of Lexa waiting for her, her eyes light up. Lincoln is accompanying her down the aisle, and it almost looks like she’s tugging at him slightly in an effort to reach Lexa faster. You can’t help rolling your eyes. They’re disgusting, really.

She finally makes it, and when she takes Lexa’s hand, you worry briefly that she’s going to skip the entire ceremony and make out with Lexa prematurely, but they both manage to behave. Luckily, without the religion aspect, the ceremony is fairly short. Lexa doesn’t faint, doesn’t throw up, and doesn’t mess up a line.

The kiss is every bit as beautiful and gross as you expected and feared.

You’ll never tell Lexa, not even under torture, but you’ve never been prouder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was it okay from Anya's perspective, or should I just stick with Clarke and Lexa?


	8. The Devil Already He Knows Me So Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke has to take a business trip, and Lexa is left to her own devices.
> 
> Or
> 
> Raven's taking Lexa out for a night on the town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one came from a couple of people wanting one or both of them to be jealous, and I wanted to include more Raven, so this happened. So we have drunk!Lexa and jealous!Lexa and a tiny smidge of jealous!Clarke for about 0.2 seconds if you squint. There's less Clarke in this one but she's got a couple big chapters coming up in the future so she'll be back!

_November 26, 2014_

“You’re sure you’ll be fine?” Clarke asks you for the fifth time in ten minutes.

You roll your eyes. Honestly. You’re twenty-six, not twelve. “Yes, Clarke. I do know how to look after myself,” you make the same reply for the fifth time in ten minutes. “I’ve been cooking for myself, doing my own laundry, and getting myself to either school or work all on my own for the last eight years. I think I can manage four days without you.”

Clarke bites her lip, looking uneasy. She has to travel to DC for some kind of continuing education – recertification – you’re not sure. Something for her nursing. The point is, she apparently thinks you can’t handle yourself alone for that long. “Okay, but remember it’s supposed to snow later this week and you always forget your jacket. Oh, and wear a scarf, please, and your hat.”

“Seriously, Clarke,” you can’t help but smile at her concern. “We don’t even live together. I still technically have my own apartment that I spend time in and do house-y things in. Alone. I’ll be fine.”

Your girlfriend huffs. “I know, it’s just that we haven’t spent the night apart in almost three months except for when I’m working. I’m going to miss you,” she admits quietly.

The confession makes you grin. “Aw, won’t be able to sleep without me?” you tease. The blonde harrumphs and shoves your shoulder, but it doesn’t deter you from wrapping her up in a tight hug. “It’ll be fine,” you reassure her. “It’s just four days. You can call me every night and you’ll be back before you know it.”

Clarke nods into your chest. “Okay,” she takes a deep breath. “Do I have everything?”

“Bag, airplane ticket, hotel address where they’re putting you up, laptop,” you recite.

“Oh! And don’t forget Raven wants to take you out tomorrow night for a ‘girls’ night’,” Clarke reminds you. You nod. “Just be careful, okay? Raven’s something else,” she warns.

You tilt your head, confused. “We hang out with Raven all the time? What could go wrong?” you dismiss.

“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Clarke sing-songs. “I love you, babe, but you have _no_ filter when you’re drunk, and she’s going to ply you with alcohol. And when she blackmails you with what she’s learned, don’t come crying to me.”

“Okay?” Clarke smirks knowingly, and heads for the door, suitcase rolling behind her. “Wait!”

Clarke jerks to a stop. “What?”

“You did forget something.”

“What are you talking about? You just said: bag, ticket, I’m wearing my coat…”

You interrupt her with a kiss. “You forgot that.”

The nurse smiles fondly. “Dork,” she insults you, giving you one more before she tears herself away and out of the apartment. “Four days,” is her last reminder before she’s gone.

“Love you!” you call after her, a faint reciprocation working its way back down the hall.

* * *

 _Now_ you see what Clarke meant. You are very, very drunk, and it’s not even nine o’clock yet. You’re not sure you’ll remember any of this night tomorrow, but at this point you don’t much care. Raven’s behaved so far, but you don’t see that lasting much longer.

“Okay, truth time, Lexie,” Raven starts, proving the point you just made to yourself. You congratulate yourself on your future-telling abilities. “What’d you think of Clarke when you first met her? Honest answers only, please.”

Your eyes narrow in suspicion. “You’re just trying to get me in trouble with my girlfriend,” you accuse her. And your words are absolutely not slurred. There is _no way_ you are that drunk already.

Yes, you are. Shit. You’re in trouble.

“She was just so pretty, Rae. _So_ pretty.” She wanted honest.

“I’m aware, Lexa. I would do her if she wasn’t my best friend, and you know, taken,” Raven answered, grinning.

“You wouldn’t dare,” you growl. “Clarke’s mine, I will end you.” Raven can’t have Clarke. The thought makes you see red.

Raven holds up her hands in surrender. “Alright, geez ninja warrior number seven, chill. It was a joke. Don’t throw a tantrum – we’re in public.”

You’re still upset at the idea of Clarke being with Raven. “I need to go home and see Clarke. I should do that. Yeah. Raven take me home so I can kiss my girlfriend,” you command.

“Your girlfriend’s in DC, genius. Remember?” Raven drawls.

You pout. You will _never_ admit to it, but yeah. You’re pouting. “But she’s so hot, Raven, I want to see her,” you complain. “Do you know what I called her when we first met?”

Raven grins evilly. “No, but I’m pretty sure I’d love to.”

“Hot Nurse Clarke Griffin. Actually, first I called her Sexy Voice Nurse Griffin because I only heard her voice the first time she woke me up in the hospital,” you admit. “She has the _best_ voice, Raven – all husky and sexy and when she uses it on me, sometimes I just want to pin her down and use my tongue to –“

“Okay, Lexa! Straying into the TMI zone,” Raven interrupts. “While I would love to hear more, don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty sure you may kill me tomorrow when you remember this if you keep going. And I’m still just a tiny bit scared of you, so I’m gonna stop you right there.” She pauses. “I really hope you’re too drunk to remember I said I’m scared of you, because I have a reputation to uphold.”

“You should date Anya,” you mutter.

“Come again?” Raven asks you, sounding vaguely surprised – both at the change of topic and you’re idea.

You smirk. “You should date Anya,” you repeat, louder this time. You mentally pat yourself on the back for the amazing idea that Raven dating Anya is. “You’re annoying, and Anya loves being annoyed. It’s her favorite mood. You’d get along great.”

“Anya scares the shit out of me.”

“Even better. She should, you know. She’s got a black belt in three different kinds of martial arts. And she’ll keep you busy so you don’t have time to have inappropriate thoughts about my girlfriend.”

Another shot of whiskey appears in front of you. The night’s getting a little hazier, and it’s hard to hear over the din of the bar, but you’re pretty sure Raven just laughed at you. “Aw, was little Lexie jealous because I think your girl is hot?”

You scowl. You _hate_ that nickname. The boys who bullied you in elementary school called you that until you learned to fight them off. And you were _not_ jealous. No way. You don’t do jealousy – it’s a stupid emotion and a waste of time – but you can’t help the little wiggle of unpleasantness in your stomach you still have at the thought of Clarke and Raven. You chalk it up to too much alcohol.

“If I thought you had a chance with Clarke, I’d dump you in the nearest river,” you decide. “Anya would help.”

Raven’s eyes widen. “Does Clarke know you have such violent musings when you’re drunk?” She looks vaguely wary.

You hide a smile. You wouldn’t touch Raven, but it was fun to frighten her a bit. Good to know it is only Clarke who is immune to your intoxicated personality. Raven fell for it hook, line, and sinker. “No touching Clarke,” you warn her again, just to make sure you got your point across.

“Dude, I wasn’t going to. Anya, though,” she hints.

You brighten, your threat already forgotten. “Oh, yeah!” You pull out your phone, typing a quick text to Anya and sending it off.

“Wait, what’d you say?” Raven leans over to look.

 **Lexa _:_** _You’re going on a date with Raven._

“Really? That makes me look needy – like I begged you to text her for me,” Raven complains. “I’ll bet you she doesn’t even reply to that.”

Raven has to eat her words when a reply appears a few seconds later.

 **Anya** : _Where and when?_

“Oh, my god.”

You grin.

 **Lexa** : _Pick her up at her apartment next Friday night at seven._

 **Anya:** _Fine._

“You guys sure don’t waste words, do you?” Raven muttered.

“She’s excited. She’ll be there,” you inform her.

Raven glares at you disbelievingly. “’Fine’ is not an enthusiastic response on any planet, even the Borg one you two stoic faced idiots come from. How did you get any hint of enthusiasm from those two texts? And plus, where on earth am I supposed to take Anya on a date?”

“She’d probably like your bed,” you shrug, setting your phone on the table because you can’t really feel your fingers right now and you don’t want to break it. You are so hammered. Clarke’s going to kill you. “And she said yes. That means she likes you. She makes quick decisions. Anya would have had no problem saying no if she wasn’t interested. Even if we’re friends.”

The two of you are interrupted by your phone ringing. You try to pick up, but your alcohol clumsy fingers drop the phone. Raven rolls her eyes, answers it for you and hands it over. “Clarke!” you squeal happily as soon as you manage to get it to your ear. “I got a date!”

“Excuse me? You what?” Clarke's tone is a new one, and you’re not sure it’s a good one. It actually sounds dangerous. You gulp. What did you say wrong?

“Give me that, before you ruin your relationship.” Raven hauls the phone away from you, despite your loud protesting. “Hey, Princess, sorry about that!” You growl, trying to snatch the phone back. You want to talk to your girlfriend. Raven leans away from you. “Lexa’s a little, tiny bit drunk right now. What she meant to say was she got _me_ a date.” There was a pause. “Yeah. Okay, here she is.”

“Clarke?” Are you still in trouble?

“Hey, babe.” Relief washes over you. “Having fun?”

You nod – before remembering Clarke can’t see you. “Yeah, but I almost had to fight Raven. She said she would ‘do you’ if you weren’t dating me. You are dating me, she can’t have you,” you whine. Raven just laughs.

“Pretty girl, you know I’m all yours,” Clarke reassures you.

Relief settles over you. “Yeah. Okay. Good.”

“Babe, how drunk are you right now?”

“So drunk,” you say gleefully.

Clarke giggles. “Okay. Give the phone to Raven for a second.”

You frown but hold the phone out to Raven. “She wants to talk to you.”

“Sup. Yes, I know, Clarke. I’m not entirely incompetent. I’m mostly sober, I’ll make sure she’s safe, no problem.” You want to bristle at that – you can take care of yourself – but the warm feeling at the thought of Clarke worrying over you wins out. “Yes, and lots of water too. I’ve had my fair share of hangovers, Princess. Lexa will be fine. Yes. _Yes_. _Okay_ , geez. Here she is.”

She hands over the cell. “Hey, pretty girl. Raven’s going to take you home and spend the night, okay?”

“Alright.”

“And you don’t have work tomorrow so try to sleep in. That shouldn’t be a problem after tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow after my test and I’ll be home in a couple days.”

“Okay. I miss you, Clarke.” You’re getting tired and going home sounds good right about now.

“I miss you too. I love you and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Love you too.” Clarke hangs up, and you stare at your phone, missing her voice already.

“Okay, Romeo. Let’s get you home.” Raven hauls you to your feet, propping you up when you stagger a bit. “You good?”

You nod, finding your balance. You manage to walk out of the bar under your own power, and Raven hails a cab for the two of you. Once you're home and Raven’s walked you to your bed, you fall into it face first.

Tonight was a good night, you think just before sleep overtakes you.

* * *

One month later, when Raven teases you over Christmas presents, you want to die of embarrassment, the events of the night finally rushing back to you.

You’d _wondered_ how Raven got Anya’s cell phone number.


	9. And You Once Said 'I Wish You Dead'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa's hoping to help Clarke mend some bridges, but only if she wants to,
> 
> Or
> 
> Clarke hasn't spoken to Abby in seven years, and she's not too sure she wants to change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured out the timeline for the entire story and added dates to this and all of the preceding chapters of this story and Fight Me so now that's a little clearer. I was having the hardest time figuring out when chapters needed to be taking place, what season it was, sometimes even what year it was, so I sat down and took an hour to compare everything and jot it all down. So now you can view that for clarity if you're interested at all. 
> 
> Okay, carry on with the previously promised Clarke heavy chapter.

_December 1, 2015_

Lexa first brings it up a couple months after you get engaged.

“Have – have you ever thought about speaking with Abby?” she asks hesitantly one weekend morning.

You tense. The two of you don’t talk about Abby. You’d made it clear when you told Lexa of the events surrounding your father’s death and the resulting estrangement from your mother that you did not want to speak about her or _to_ her. “Why?” Your voice is gruff, but you _don’t_ want to discuss this right now. You and Lexa have a rare day off together, and you don’t want to waste any of it in the fight this is sure to develop into.

Your fiancée can tell she’s treading on shaky ground. “You’re getting married,” she reminds you carefully. “That’s usually a big event in someone’s life. I was wondering if you’d thought about Abby being there or not.”

“Are you saying that I’m obligated to want the person who gave birth to me to be there simply because she did that?” You’re getting defensive, but you can’t help it. Thinking about Abby, about her ruining one of the most important days of your life, makes you unfathomably angry. And you’re angry that Lexa brought it up.

Lexa quickly tries to stem the argument. “No, Clarke. I’m not trying to imply anything. I just –”

You jerk to your feet, knocking over the table chair you were sitting in. Lexa flinches at the loud noise and Bodey wakes from his nap by your toes. “That certainly seems to be what you were implying,” you hiss angrily. “We are _not_ discussing this.” You leave the kitchen, Bodey following.

“Clarke,” Lexa calls after you, but you don’t turn back. You’re not being rational, you know this. Lexa didn’t mean any harm. But if you had stayed, the conversation would have turned into a full blown argument – if it hadn’t already – and you didn’t want to fight with Lexa. You accidentally slam the bedroom door behind yourself.

The room is quiet for half an hour. You spend most of it trying to calm down while you pet Bodey. You can hear Lexa doing the dishes in the kitchen, and you feel bad about leaving her the way you did. But she doesn’t deserve to be yelled at, which would have happened if the topic had continued.

There’s a soft knock at the door a few minutes later. “Come in,” you murmur. “I’m sorry I –” you begin as the door opens, but Lexa just shakes her head and goes to kneel at your feet beside the bed.

“No. _I’m_ sorry,” she denies. “Sorry that I made you feel like I was pushing you or implying that I knew what was best for you. That I made you feel exactly the way your parents did. I didn’t want to do that.”

You sniff, wiping your eyes. “It’s okay.”

Lexa shakes her head. “It’s not. But let me say what I really meant. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do or you think will hurt you. I just don’t want you to have any regrets, Clarke. Whatever you decide, I’ll stand by you always,” she promises you. “That will never change.” She ducks her head to look into your eyes, which are trained on your hands in your lap. “But I know you still love her, no matter how rightfully angry you are. And I don’t want something to happen and you to wish that you had at least tried. I don’t want you to look at our wedding photos someday and wish your mom had been there.”

You choke on a sob and hold out your arms. Lexa immediately rises to sit on the bed and folds you into her, holding you close.

“And if you _do_ try and realize that you can’t forgive her,” Lexa continues, “that’s fine. I’ll never bring it up again. I adore the family that we have right now and I am so grateful that you allowed me to be a part of it. But if you _can_ forgive Abby, now is the time.”

You nod against Lexa’s chest. “You’re right. I still love her. I’ll try,” you whisper. “But I don’t know if I can do it right away. I have to think about it.”

Lexa tightens her arms. “You’re in control, Clarke. As long as you need, that’s how long it will take. And if you call and hang up without talking to her – that’s fine. You still tried.”

Being told that you are in charge calms you like nothing else, because that is exactly what Abby didn’t give you all those years ago. You have never been as thankful for Lexa as you are right this instant. You lift your head, and Lexa obliges you with a kiss.

* * *

It takes you a month to work up the courage to call Abby. You’d deleted her cell phone number from your contacts when you were still in a rage and it was the least self-destructive act of defiance you could think of. After seven years, you’ve forgotten the number, so you call the hospital instead. You figure Abby spends the vast majority of her time there anyway.

“Who should I say is calling?” the secretary asks you.

You sigh. “Just tell her it’s Clarke.”

A few minutes later the hold music ends, and you hear Abby’s voice for the first time in seven years. “Hello? Clarke?” She sounds out of breath – like she ran to the phone. You try not to think about that.

You speak up, not giving her a chance to interrupt. “The only reason I’m doing this is because I’m engaged, and my fiancée loves and understands me well enough to know that for some fucking reason that I can’t fathom, I still love you. And I don’t know why, so I am going to ask you one question.” You take a deep breath. “Why did you do it? Why did you decide that you had any ownership over my life and how I live it and decide that I didn’t need to be with Dad when he was _dying_?” Your voice cracks, but you plow on. “Because I’ve been going over it again and again for _years_ and I still can’t figure out why he would agree to hurt me like you did. Why did he agree? Why Abby?”

Abby sighs. “We wanted what was best for you, Clarke,” she begins. You try to ignore the way a little knot in your chest comes undone at the sound of her voice. “You were just starting a new phase of your life, and we didn’t want to drag you back and forth.”

All of your anger comes rushing back. “That’s not an answer! That’s bullshit!” you yell. “Dad was my _best_ friend. He wouldn’t have gone along with this, which means it was _you_. I want the truth. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. But it seems like you still can’t say anything to me without lying through your teeth, so I don’t know if I’m ever going to get the truth from you. And the only other person who can tell me is _dead_.” You hang up.

* * *

When Lexa comes home from the office less than an hour later, you’re still crying on the floor, your cell phone a shattered mess on the other side of the hall. “Oh, Clarke,” she murmurs sadly, quickly joining you on the ground and enveloping you in a hug.

“I – I called – Abby,” you stutter out between sobs. “And she said – the same shit – as all those – years ago. And I don’t know – what to do. I miss her. I love her. Why do I love her?” your voice is agonized and filled with so much pain that even you flinch. But Lexa just holds onto you.

“Because she’s your mom,” she finally says when your cries have quieted. “And deep down, you’ll always love her, even if you can’t forgive her. But I think you know that she’s hiding the real reason why they made that decision – and you need to know what that reason is so that you know that there was nothing you could have done differently. Otherwise you won’t be able to forgive _yourself_ for not being there. Vicious cycle, remember?” she reminds you of their conversation about Tris all those months ago.

You nod shakily, leaning into Lexa’s strong body and wishing you had some of her strength. You'll just have to settle for hoping Lexa is willing to lend you some. “I’ll – I’ll call her again. But I can’t do it right now. I can’t listen to her voice,” you eventually manage to whisper.

“And that’s perfectly okay,” Lexa reassures you. “There is no rush, Clarke. It’s all up to you.”

The renewed reminder of your control over the whole interaction finally manages to relax you. You slump into Lexa, and when she carries you to the bedroom you’ve shared for nearly a year, it takes only minutes for you to fall asleep in her arms.

* * *

Lexa buys you a new phone the next day, but it’s another week before you feel able to call Abby again. When she picks up, you give her an ultimatum. “I’m sick of being lied to. I know there’s more than what you told me, so the truth, Abby. If I don’t get it, I swear to god I will _never_ contact you again.”

There is silence over the line for a minute before Abby sighs. “Your father,” she starts hesitantly. “He was so sick, those last weeks. In the beginning – when we finally got him diagnosed – it was too late. There wasn’t anything to be done and the cancer had already metastasized to his other organs.” Abby pauses for a moment but you don’t say anything, needing to hear the rest. “Jake didn’t want you to have to see him waste away. He didn’t want your last memories to be of him in a hospital bed, barely able to breathe and in so much pain. And god help me, I agreed. We thought it would be healthier for you, in the long run – but we were obviously wrong. And I am so, so sorry for that, Clarke,” Abby’s voice is earnest. “I’ve regretted our decision every second since. You deserved better.”

Tears are running down your cheeks, and you find that you can’t speak. Your tongue feels thick – heavy in your mouth. It was your dad – not Abby. You blamed the wrong person, and she _let_ you.

“Clarke? Honey, are you still there?” Abby’s tone is worried.

You sniff. “I’m here – Mom.” Stunned silence is your only response, so you speak again. “I – I think – maybe I need to see you. Can I come over to the house sometime?” you ask hesitantly.

“Sweet heart, of course. I’ll be home Saturday, does that work for you?”

“Yeah, I don’t have a shift that day. Can I – can I bring my fiancée? She’d really like to meet you.”

Abby sounds thrilled at the thought. “Yes, absolutely I would love to meet her. What’s her name?”

That’s a safe topic. “Lexa. She’s a defense lawyer. She’s amazing, Mom.” You could talk about Lexa for ages.

“If she’s with you she must be.” You hear an overhead page of the hospital calling for Abby. “Honey, I have to go. But I’ll see you Saturday?”

“Yeah. We’ll be there. Bye, Mom.”

“Good bye, Clarke. I love you.”

You hang up without saying it back. You’re too overwhelmed with everything that’s happened in the last ten minutes. When Lexa gets home a few hours later, you’ve moved to the couch but you’re still thinking things through.

Realizing that something happened and you’re not quite ready to talk about it, Lexa leaves you be apart from a kiss hello. She quietly goes about making dinner – you can hear pots moving against the stove and water running in the sink – and an hour later she gently urges you to the table to eat.

In all honesty, you have no idea what you put in your mouth that evening. Lexa lets you eat in silence, and you manage to empty a plate without tasting one bite. It’s not until the dishes are cleared and washed – you gathered yourself enough to dry while Lexa cleaned – that you finally feel ready.

“I called her again,” you blurt out as Lexa is wiping her hands dry.

Lexa pauses. “Seeing as your phone is still in one piece I imagine it went a little better this time?” she teases gently, making you laugh. You give her a quick hug, thankful that she broke the tension.

“She told me the truth. About my dad. It wasn’t her idea. It was his. I’ve been blaming her for years, and she only went through with it because Dad wanted to protect me. Why doesn’t she hate me?” you wonder bewilderedly.

Lexa wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Because she’s your mother,” she tells you. “And she misses you – I’m betting just as much as you do her. Besides, it’s in the job description of being a mom, really. We pull stupid shit and they just sigh and carry on.”

“Seven years, Lexa. I wasted seven years of our lives hating her for what my dad asked her to do,” you lament.

Strong hands pull you to face their owner. “No,” Lexa denies firmly, waiting to make sure you’re listening to her words. “You spent seven years healing from a truly awful decision they made together. Who you blamed doesn’t matter. You still needed that time to recover. None of it was a waste. Just think – if you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be living here in New York with the amazing career you made for yourself. Maybe you’d be a doctor in your mother’s hospital. Maybe I wouldn’t have met the love of my life. I’m sorry, but I can’t see that as a waste if it brought me you.”

You swallow a lump that seems to be taking up all the space of your throat and shake your head. “I could never give you up,” you whisper. “I’d go through it all again if you were always at the end.”

Lexa tugs you into a tight hug and you go willingly, kissing her temple. Later you’ll ask her to fly down to Washington DC with you on two days’ notice to meet her future mother-in-law for the first time. Lexa will, of course, agree right away, even though she has some work to get ahead on this weekend. The two of you will fly down to DC and Lexa will easily charm your mother. And things will be awkward between you and Abby, but as you sit next to a sleeping Lexa on a flight home Saturday night, you’ll be sure for the first time in seven years that Abby will be a continuing part of your life.

All because of the person that makes up your entire future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can suggest prompts down below or on my Tumblr at 'fairytaleslayer'. Use that new fangled messaging system that's so handy, if you feel like it. I only have a couple prompts left so if you want more, yell some ideas at me!


	10. Everyone Knows I am Going to Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Attending the firm's Christmas Formal is mandatory, much to Lexa's initial chagrin.
> 
> Or
> 
> Clarke can't handle Lexa in a suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a combination of various ideas. Initially it started as a prompt I saw on Tumblr about being at a party, heading for another drink, and your partner sneaking up behind you and whispering about how you looked so good they'd rip your clothes off if the room wasn't so crowded. And somehow that got expanded to include smut (I'm a little nervous about that part). People wanted to see jealous!Clarke, so that happened, and as a bonus, you get slightly inebriated!Clarke as well. Enjoy!

_December 20, 2018_

You sip at your champagne, watching your coworkers schmooze and booze their way around the bosses, all hoping to cozy up to one of them. It’s your office’s annual Christmas Formal, and you are not a fan. Lawyers are even _less_ fun to be around when they’re drunk – and there are a lot of drunk lawyers here tonight. But you are required to put in an appearance, and you’ve been eying that partner position that’s opening up next month, so you got all gussied up and came with your wife and minimal grumbling.

“Miss Woods!” a voice calls out from the crowd.

You glance around to find a younger woman walking toward you. “Akilah, good to see you,” you greet the intern with a small smile as she comes to a stop beside you. Akilah began working for your firm in the summer as an unpaid intern, but worked her way up to a part time position by the time her school year started. She took a shine to you, and you’ve done your best to show her how the job can be done in the right way – no short cuts, no laziness.

Akilah latched on to every word you said. You try to give her some attention every day, teach her something new. Most of the interns are ignored, or worse, bullied, by the lower level lawyers – especially the women. Even today. You remember the harassment you received at your first internship before you ended up at Fiogle & Partners your third year of undergrad, and you try to make sure that Akilah and the other interns are left alone to do their work.

“Merry Christmas, Miss Woods!” Akilah says happily, grinning up at you.

“And you. I told you to call me Lexa, Ilah,” you reprimand her gently. The poor girl was petrified of you the first month she worked for F&P – the rumors from spiteful associates and contract lawyers of the dreaded ‘Commander’ tend to make the students, clerks, and paralegals avoid you at first. You’d felt eyes on you for weeks, and every time you turned your head, you’d _just_ spot Akilah whipping around to avoid eye contact. Amused, you let it go, until she shyly approached you a few weeks later with a question about a case she’d overheard you discussing with a partner. You had gladly explained and offered your help on anything else she needed when you had the time.

After that, her questions were endless. She certainly lived up to her name, and would make a splendid lawyer in the future. Seeing Akilah not being scorned and turned away, the rest of the student interns began to come up to you with their problems and questions and offers of assistance. It was like your own little horde of helpers. Whenever you talk about it at home, Clarke affectionately refers to them as your ducklings.

Akilah blushes at your continued insistence she use your name. “I like Miss Woods. Makes me feel more official. Like an actual lawyer,” she confesses quietly.

You smile at that. “Very well then, Akilah. I was about to get some champagne and find my wife. Would you like anything?”

“Clarke is here?” Akilah asks excitedly. She’s heard all about Clarke, and is just about as in awe of her as she seems to be of you. “Do I finally get to meet her?”

“If I ever find her,” you mutter. The room is not that big. The fact that Clarke has managed to hide from your sight this long is ridiculous. “Let me look around, and then I’ll introduce you to her, okay?”

Akilah nods emphatically before moving off to the drinks table. You shake your head fondly. Kids today.

You find yourself alone once more. Clarke disappeared somewhere almost twenty minutes ago now, supposedly getting another drink. You think maybe you should go look for her, but you decide that she’ll be fine for the next few minutes. Something else has caught your eye. You busy yourself observing Robert – the main competition for you making partner – having an animated conversation with the original sole owner and current head of your firm, Mr. Fiogle.

You narrow your eyes. There is _no_ chance that Robert is going to steal that partnership out from under your nose. You’ve run your ass off for this opportunity, working seventy plus hours a week to build solid cases for your clients, while Robert regularly hands his work off to various paralegals, expecting them to do his job for him and make him look good.

Hopefully the partners have more sense than to add Robert to their club, but you can’t be sure, so you casually finish your champagne and move towards the pair under the pretense of getting another drink. When he spots you, Fiogle breaks his conversation with Robert to approach. You stop so he can catch up.

“Miss Woods, lovely to see you here this evening,” he greets.

You nod respectfully. “Mr. Fiogle. Clarke and I wouldn’t miss it.” Weren’t _allowed_ to miss it, but you don’t mention that part.

“Wonderful. Wonderful. And how is that case of yours coming?”

“Closing arguments just after the new year,” you inform him. As if he didn’t know. “She has an airtight alibi – the jury shouldn’t take long to deliberate at all. Open and shut.”

“That’s what the firm likes to see, Miss Woods. She’s one of your pro bono cases, yes?” You nod. “Good. Excellent. Have a solid end to this one, Lexa, and that partnership should be as good as yours, if I have anything to say about it.”

You try not to grin at his words, but a small smile appears nonetheless. Robert is glaring at you from across the room, but you ignore him. All your hard work is finally paying off, and you can’t wait to tell Clarke. “Thank you, Sir.”

“And how’s married life treating you?” Fiogle continued. “How is Clarke?”

Your smile gets wider. “Even better than I imagined. She’s amazing,” you enthuse. This is a topic of conversation you could really get behind. You could sing your wife’s praises all night. Have done so in the privacy of your own home, but Fiogle doesn’t need to know that.

“She’s a good one, Lexa. You hang onto her,” Fiogle orders.

“I intend to, Sir. Thank you again, Sir.” Self-given task complete, Fiogle moves off to speak with his other partners and their spouses, and you go back to getting that second glass of champagne. It feels distinctly more celebratory now that your boss has basically guaranteed your promotion, and you wish Clarke would reappear so you can tell her the good news. You take a sip, scanning the room for your absent wife.

“You look so fucking hot in that suit, Lexa,” a sultry voice whispers in your ear out of nowhere. “If it wasn’t so crowded in here I’d fuck you so hard.”

You splutter and choke, the alcohol burning your throat. It takes you a minute to recover, and Clarke just waits, smiling at you the entire time. “Clarke, you can’t say those kinds of things!” you hiss at her when you can breathe again.

“And why not, Lexa?” Clarke smirks, proud of having ruffled you.

“Because anyone could hear! My bosses, my coworkers, my –” You are cut off by Clarke’s kiss, and you can’t help but lean into it despite your worry.

Clarke breaks the kiss, leaving you panting silently and wanting more. “But you look so good, pretty girl,” she purrs. “I just want to take you home and have my way with you.” And yeah, your sex life has kind of taken a hit with all of your extra hours at the office and you haven’t been home with Clarke as much as you’d like – but right now, you feel like a newlywed again, and the need to have Clarke immediately is near overwhelming.

Despite that, you pull away from your wife slightly. “We can’t,” you decide reluctantly. “We have to stay until at least nine. It’s polite.”

Your wife sighs, disappointed. “Alright,” she agrees. “But after that, you’re mine.”

You shudder at the promise inherent in Clarke’s words. “Come on. There’s someone who wants to meet you.” You drag her off to meet Akilah, hoping the time goes by quickly.

* * *

It’s near impossible to unlock the apartment door while Clarke is attacking your neck with her lips. “Clarke, inside,” you pant.

“I wish I was inside you,” Clarke replies, making you groan in frustration. She _knows_ what she does to you, and she can’t just _say_ stuff like that.

“No. The apartment.” You _finally_ manage to get the door open and shove Clarke inside. You barely get it closed before you are trapped against the wood and Clarke’s lips are on yours. You try to reach for Clarke’s hips, but find your wrists captured and placed above your head – held there.

Clarke pulls her face away and eyes you fiercely, making you squirm. “Do you know what the sight of you in that suit does to me?” she asks rhetorically. “Teasing me that way all night – that should be illegal.”

You tug against her hands, not trying too hard to get away. “You’re one to talk,” you retort. “The way that dress looks on you had all my sleazy coworkers drooling all over you. I had to fight three of them just to take you home.”

Clarke chuckles darkly. “Well. Then I guess I should thank you properly for being my knight.” She whirls you away from the door and backs you into the couch, making you sit and then lie back. “Don’t move,” she orders as she places your hands back by your ears. And as much as you don’t typically like being told what to do, with Clarke, you don’t even question it.

Your wife quickly undoes your belt and pants. “Lift,” she commands, and you raise your hips obligingly so she can pull them off along with your dress shoes and socks. “Beautiful,” she whispers, staring at you. That’s one of the things you love about Clarke. Every time she sees you naked, she acts like it’s the first time all over again – like she’s as blown away by you as she was the morning after your drunken fifth date.

The nurse quickly rids you of your suit jacket, but she takes her time unbuttoning your shirt. “You know,” Clarke begins casually. “I really do hate those formals sometimes. I have to spend _hours_ watching all those wives stare at you, either wishing they could be you or _do_ you, but they’re stuck with their old, flabby husbands that probably sleep around. _I_ get to go home with you,” your wife declares – it occurs to you that for once, _Clarke_ may be the one not in full control of her faculties rather than you. You had been careful to remain fairly sober tonight so that you could fully appreciate Clarke now.

But it seems Clarke has other plans. “You’re mine,” she hisses before she rips open your shirt and drops her mouth to just below your breasts. Clarke nips and kisses and sucks and licks, leaving red marks that will be purple by morning littering your rib cage and you gasping.

“I’m yours,” you whine out, wanting to move your hands into the blonde’s gorgeous hair but worried that disobeying Clarke will cause her to cease her delightful ministrations. You settle for arching your torso into her mouth, aching to pull her into you.

“I will fight anyone that tries to take you,” Clarke swears. Her eyes are earnest but worried – as if these fictional women could ever tear you away from her.

Making a snap decision, you grab a handful of blonde hair and tug Clarke into a searing kiss. “That’s my line,” you murmur against her lips.

Clarke allows it for a moment, but then she removes your hand from her and flips you over onto your stomach. “I told you not to move,” she reprimands you, pinning your wrists once more and straddling your thighs. Your wife has never been this – possessive before, nor as dominating. You’re not sure if it’s her jealousy or her slight inebriation doing it to her, but you are greatly enjoying the current effects.

Attention is now being lavished on the tattoo covering the entire right side of your back apart from where your scar works its jagged way down your shoulder. You’d left that part of your body free of ink as a testament to Tris, but the rest is covered by a watercolor tattoo of the galaxy Clarke had transformed your back into the morning you had proposed. Now you can carry them both with you wherever you go.

A hand working its way up, down, around, and between your thighs catches your attention. “Clarke,” you whimper, wriggling your hips to try to urge your wife to get on with it.

“Uh uh,” Clarke denies, scooting back and taking you with her until you are on your hands and knees. “You disobeyed, pretty girl. And unless you listen, you don’t get to come.” Her hand trails and traces its dancing way through your slit, just lightly grazing over your clit before settling on caressing your stomach as she leans into your back.

Clarke proceeds to tease you relentlessly, working you up into a frenzy, only to back off just as you reach the precipice. No matter how you whine and squirm and writhe, Clarke does not give in. She is ruthless in her drive to make you crazy, and the tiny corner of your brain not overwhelmed by Clarke taking you over wonders why this side of her has never been displayed before. But even that bit of rational thought is soon consumed by Clarke’s need to devour you whole.

She teases you for _ages._ Hours, it feels like. At some point, you collapse into the couch cushions, arms too weak to hold you anymore – and _still_ Clarke doesn’t let you come. She merely turns you over and continues her assault. You aren’t even sure you’d be _able_ to come at this point you’re so wound up. But you’re desperate to.

“Ask me,” Clarke murmurs into your skin, her hot breath hitting your clit making you writhe in agony.

“W-what?” you ask shakily, not comprehending what could possibly be expected of you after what Clarke’s put you through.

Clark nips the skin below your belly button and smirks. “Beg,” she demands. “Beg me to let you come.”

That could be a problem. You don’t beg. Ever. But you kind of really need to come. You hold off for a while, though, until Clarke presses more firmly against your clit – just once – and that’s all it takes. “Please,” you whimper. “Please, Clarke, let me come – make me come.”

Clarke grins evilly. “As you wish, pretty girl.” And with that, two fingers are thrust into you once, twice, with little warning, her thumb simultaneously rubbing your clit _hard_ , and you’re gone. You climax so hard you forget how to breathe, the pleasure so acute that the air gets lost somewhere between your throat and your lungs.

Your torturer doesn’t stop there. She begins thrusting at a fast pace the second you relax enough for her to move her fingers, her thumb against your clit a rough counterpoint. “Again,” Clarke growls.

“I can’t,” you deny, shaking your head desperately.

“You will,” Clarke corrects, leaning down to mouth at your breast.

“Clarke,” you whine, fidgeting but not daring to move your hands again.

Clarke bites down and releases. “Come,” she demands. “Now.”

You are helpless but to obey, and your second orgasm is even more intense than your first. This time, your vision goes dark around the edges, eventually taking your sight as your eyes close. While you do not fully lose consciousness, you are unware of your surroundings for several minutes.

When you come to, Clarke is kissing a slow and gentle path up your sternum. “Hey,” she murmurs, her possessiveness finally sated.

“Hey,” you croak, barely able to get your voice working. “That was – different.”

Clarke’s eyes grow frightened. “Are you okay?” she asks, sounding worried. She moves to get off of you, which you don’t appreciate at all. “I don’t know what came over me, I shouldn’t have –”

You cut her off by pulling her up your body to kiss her. Clarke’s tense for a moment, but eventually falls into it. When you let her go, you assuage her fears. “I liked it,” you reassure her. “You have never been hotter.”

“Really?” Clarke asks hesitantly, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your cheek, and your nose in between her words. “I didn’t force you to do something, did I, because I could never forgive myself if I –”

“If you had,” you interrupt once again, “I would have stopped it. It was – intense, but never too much. I promise.”

At your words, Clarke finally relaxes. She slumps into your chest, and you hold her tightly. “Seeing all those people,” she whispers after some time, laying gentle kisses over your heart now. Her care for you makes said heart ache. “All those men and women staring at you. You don’t understand the way you draw people to you, Lex. I was jealous I guess – all those people trying to get your attention. I’ve seen it before, at these things, but it’s never bothered me as much as it did tonight.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’ve only got eyes for you then, wife,” you state matter of factly.

“I love you,” Clarke replies.

“I love you too.” You kiss her forehead, then the tip of her nose. “Give me a minute, and I’ll –”

Clarke interrupts you this time. “I’m fine. I think I wore you out tonight.” Her face is hiding in your neck, but you can _feel_ her smirk.

You let her win this one and close your eyes with a tired hum. “That you did.” You’ll just rest here a few minutes before getting Clarke up to move to the bed.

Clarke’s giggles are the last thing you hear before you fall asleep.

You don’t remember until the next morning the good news you have to share with your wife, which leads to another, small celebration before you get off the couch and move to the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The date that the chapter needed to take place in with my thought out timeline just so happened to line up with Christmas. How's that for coincidence?
> 
> As always, leave any prompts you'd like to see down below or message me at 'fairytaleslayer' over on Tumblr!


	11. You Are My Only Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Tris' first day of school and violence may or may not be imminent.
> 
> Or
> 
> Lexa is worried her little girl takes after her just a bit too much and Clarke is just amused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning is a prompt from hedahearteyes who wanted to see how Clarke and Lexa would react to Tris' first day of school. The rest I came up with this morning when I should have been studying for my final exam.

_September 2, 2023_

It is Tris’ first day of school and you are totally okay with it. It’s fine. She’s just going to be a few blocks over for a few hours, almost entirely unsupervised and will basically have free rein to wreak all havoc. You’re totally not freaking out as you watch your little almost four year old happily sprint over to play with some other kids after calling a hasty goodbye to you and Clarke over her shoulder. You’re totally not thinking any worst case scenarios as you follow Clarke back to your car with Aiden toddling along as he holds Clarke’s hand.

“What if she gets sick, Clarke?”

“Then the teacher will call us to come get her,” Clarke supplies.

You think that over for a minute. That makes sense. “What if she misses us?” is your next worry.

“She’ll be too busy to miss us that much, and she’ll be home in a couple hours anyways, so she’ll be just fine,” Clarke says patiently as she buckles Aiden into his booster seat and you get behind the wheel.

You think some more. “What if kids bully her and she can’t stand up for herself – I should have taught her some ju jitsu. Did we forget to give her her lunch?” you ask frantically.

Clarke bursts into giggles. “Oh, my god Lexa, it’s just preschool. She’ll be back at lunch time and it’s only three days a week. She’ll be _fine_. She already bosses Aiden around like a champ. No one will give her any trouble. She’s too much like you,” she adds as an afterthought.

That just sets off all your worries again. “Oh god, you’re right – she’s like me. What if she gets in a fight, Clarke? What if some boy tries to bully her and she beats him up? We can’t have that, she could be expelled!”

“From preschool, Lex?” Clarke drawls sarcastically. “That’s what the teachers are for. To stop fights from happening. Plus, they’re four. There won’t be any fist fights. Maybe some knocking over of block castles but I think that’s as violent as the war of the pre-K students ever gets.”

There’s quiet in the car for a few minutes apart from Aiden babbling a conversation to himself in the back seat.

“So we shouldn’t turn around and pick her up?”

“ _No,_ Lexa.”

* * *

_April 25, 2031_

Tris had been perfectly fine after her first day of school. Excited to see her mommies again – she _did_ miss you guys (you totally don’t lord that over Clarke at all) – but she liked school and didn’t get into any fights. She doesn’t get into her first fight until fifth grade, and she told you and Clarke the whole story that evening.

A boy in her class claimed that her moms were sinners and his parents said the two of you were going to hell for being together. She demanded that he take it back – because her moms are amazing and perfect and she doesn’t really understand love like that just yet, but she knows you love her and her little brother a whole bunch and you kiss all the time and that’s a little bit gross but she knows that means that you love each other – so she demanded that he take it back. And when he just sneered and said that you and Clarke are evil and god hates you for being gay (never mind that Clarke’s _bisexual_ ), Tris lost her temper and nailed him in the face with her fist. He went down and she just jumped on him and laid into him. It took a little bit before a teacher came along and pulled her off of the crying boy.

* * *

She got sent to the principal’s office and that is when you were called because Clarke couldn’t pick up her phone in the hospital while in the middle of the transport of some car crash victims to her ICU. You drive over as quickly as you can because all the secretary would tell you was that Tris was in a fight. You spend the entire drive freaking out that Tris got hurt.

When you get there you practically sprint to the office building, finding Tris sullenly kicking her legs back and forth in a chair too tall for her, looking defiant. “Tris, kid, what happened?” you ask, relieved that she seems to be fine, but still worried.

“I beat up Robby,” she mutters after a moment, not meeting your eyes even when you kneel to see her better.

You frown as you gently take her hands and inspect her split knuckles, wondering what could have caused Tris to become violent. “Honey, why did you beat him up?”

Tris’ eyes flicker back and forth, wanting to evade the answer, but you wait patiently. Finally, she comes out with it, blurting everything in a couple breaths. “He told me during recess that you and Mommy are going to hell because you’re married and love each other and he said his parents said that all gay people are going to rot in hell! Why would he say that Mama? You and Mommy aren’t mean, so why would you go to hell?”

Your heart breaks at your daughter’s confusion. You’d hoped she would be able to avoid this – you’d hoped that after all this time, people would have come to be more accepting. You guess it was too much to hope for. Tris is staring at you while you think, and you can tell she’s worried she’s in trouble with you too. “Okay, sweetheart,” you finally begin. She flinches, prepared to be scolded. “I’m not mad, I promise,” you are quick to reassure her, “but we’ll talk about this more later. It’s alright.” Tris relaxes at your words, leaping from the chair to wrap you in a hug. She hides her face in your neck, and you can feel tears. Your heart breaks a little bit more. Your eleven year old hasn’t cried in years. You rub her back soothingly, murmuring how you love her and Mommy and Aiden love her and you’ll take her home soon.

Finally, when her tears slow, Tris pulls back. “What now?” she asks tremulously, sniffing.

“Now,” you sigh, “I get to go have a talk with your principal. Just wait out here, okay?” she nods, wriggling her way back onto her chair. You drop a kiss on the top of her head before making your way into the office.

“Ah, Miss Woods, we’ve been waiting.” Principal Wallace’s words are even, but you can hear in his tone that he’s upset. You don’t care.

“I had to make sure my daughter was safe, first. I’m sure you understand, Cage,” you reply calmly. Inside, you’re seething. You and Clarke have always hated the principal, but the quality of the teachers and the fact that all of Tris’ friends went to this school have kept the two of you from transferring her.

“I think you should be more worried about what she did to my son!” a woman already sitting down snips at you.

You spare half a glance for her. “And you are?” You know who she is.

Her lips tighten into thin lines. “Robby’s mother. Your brat beat my boy up for no reason!”

“Ah, yes. Robert,” you feign realization. “Tris has had problems with him before – complaints about his behavior toward her at school. I believe Clarke and I spoke with you about that last month, Cage. You assured us you would look into it.” Cage has the brains to look slightly uncomfortable with the turn the conversation has taken. “And what does your son claim happened on the playground?” you ask the mother.

“He was playing quietly by himself when your heathen came up and attacked him for no reason!” Susan, you remember her name, now – such a common name – retorts. Her screeching is not only annoying, but repetitive.

You had been playing along before, but you are truly angry now. “Tris is a kind, smart, _good_ girl who loves her family and her teachers and her friends. She draws in her spare time. She plays make believe with her little brother. What she _does not_ do,” you hiss vehemently, “is attack her classmates. Do you want to know her side? You’re not going to listen, but I’ll tell you anyway. She told me that your _Robby_ , singled her out and made it his business to inform her that his parents – that’s _you_ , Susan, and your husband – had taken it upon yourselves to decide my wife’s and my eternal fate and discuss it while he was present. He then decided that it was pertinent information to pass along to _Tris_ , telling her that her parents were doomed to hell simply because of who they love. My daughter is _ten_ , Mrs. Smith.” You’re getting too emotional, but you’re on a roll, now. “If you have a problem with me or Clarke – first off, get over it. This isn’t the nineteenth century. We’ve been around a long time, and you’re not getting rid of us. It’s 2031 – you think your lot would be used to us by now. But if you can somehow manage to be that narrow minded in this day and age, you come to _us_. You do _not_ discuss our private lives in the earshot of your young son and then try to place the blame on my daughter, who has nothing to do with this conversation! _Do you understand me_?”

Susan looks terrified, and doesn’t move. You grunt in annoyance and turn to Cage, who looks highly nervous. “Is there anything else, Wallace?” you ask sternly.

“Y-yes,” Cage stutters, making you smirk. “There’s still the matter of punishment.”

You want to snarl. “If you _dare_ to punish my daughter in any way for defending herself against a bully, I will withdraw her from this school immediately and that _very_ large tuition bill will go unpaid. I will also pass along this unfortunate event to my firm, where, as I’m sure you know, I am a senior partner,” you threaten openly. “Lawyers today are _very_ open to civil cases such as these. The mental well-being of children is a top priority.”

Cage gulps and says nothing further. You nod decisively. “That’s what I thought. I’m taking Tris home. She will not be in school tomorrow, but she will return on Monday. Be so kind as to let her teacher know for me – I know she’ll worry because she actually cares about her students.” You turn to leave, your eyes landing on Robby’s mother one more time. “I hope your son grows up to be a better man than you’re raising him to be,” you inform her before stalking out.

It’s only when you see Tris staring up at you in awe that you realize the office door was open the whole time and she heard everything. You wince and sag a little, but Tris leaps off the chair and engulfs your waist in a huge hug. You relax and return the embrace, eventually leaning down to pick your child up. Tris protests a little, saying she’s too big, but wraps her arms around your neck and legs around your waist tightly.

“Okay, monkey,” you soothe her. “Let’s go home.”

“Will Mommy be there?”

“No, honey. She had to work today, remember? But she’ll be home for dinner,” you promise.

“Am I in trouble?” she mumbles into your neck.

“No, Tris. You are not in trouble,” you say firmly. “I’m very sorry that you had to go through this today, do you understand? I’m so sorry.” You quickly exit the building, wanting to get Tris away from those horrible people as soon as possible.

“It’s not your fault, Mama,” Tris protests.

You smile sadly because you know Tris can’t see you. “I know. And it’s not your fault. I wish these kinds of things weren’t a problem anymore – I guess we should have talked to you about it. We should have taught you how to handle this without having to resort to violence - that _is_ Mommy’s and my fault. I suppose we thought things would be different by now,” you murmur to her as you near your car.

Tris perks up a little bit. “What things?” she asks curiously.

You sigh. You wish Clarke was here to help with this conversation, but she won’t be back until six. “A lot of your classmates have a mom and a dad, right?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So you have two moms,” you explain carefully.

“Okay?” Tris is bewildered.

You can’t help but smile because she is such a _good_ kid. “Some people don’t think that’s okay. They don’t think it’s right for two girls to love each other or two boys to love each other. They think it’s unnatural.”

“Why? You love Mommy,” Tris reasons as she hops into the front seat and puts her seat belt on, and you wish that everybody would listen to children more often. Things would be much simpler.

“I don’t know, Tris. And yes, I love Mommy very much. Just like I love you and Aiden a whole ton, you know that, right?”

Tris nods vigorously, leaning over the console to give you an awkward hug. You accept it gratefully, knowing that soon she’ll reach an age where hugging her parents will be embarrassing. She’s yours, after all, and you definitely never touched your parents in public between the ages of twelve and fourteen. So you’ll take all the hugs you can get while they’re freely offered. “I’m sorry people don’t like you, Mama,” she whispers.

You hold her tighter, because your daughter shouldn’t have to worry about you. “I’m sorry too, sweetheart. But it doesn’t bother me or Mommy anymore. We have each other, and you and Aiden, and Grandma Abby, and your Aunts Octavia and Raven and Anya, and your Uncles Lincoln and Bellamy and Wells. We’re so happy, kiddo. We don’t care about anyone else, okay?”

Your daughter nods, seeming to be thinking over your words carefully. “Promise?”

“I promise. Now, since we have the rest of today and I know Mommy and I have the day off tomorrow and now you do too, what do you say I go steal Aiden out of his class, we go grocery shopping and make a special dinner for Mommy tonight, and go see Grandma tomorrow?”

Tris squeals in excitement. Abby spoils your kids rotten whenever you visit. You laugh at your daughter’s approval. “Grandma’s it is.”


	12. Even If You Were Upside Down I Would Be Beside You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pregnancy is exciting and all, and then it gets hard.
> 
> Or
> 
> After a bad day, Clarke just needs some cuddles with her wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a short little something that's been sitting for a bit while I stare at it and then write other chapters. Shout out to Papoy, who prompted this. Sorry this one took me so long, but it would just not come together. I'm still not all too pleased, but I'm throwing it out there.  
> Lexa's going to go through the wringer in the next chapter, so enjoy the fluff!

_February 2, 2020_

You don’t mind being pregnant. You actually quite enjoy it, sometimes. You’re so excited about expanding your family, and Lexa is over the moon. Whenever you’re both at home, she can’t seem to stop touching your stomach, in awe of the little life growing inside.

Your mother gave you a couple pregnancy books she’d ‘stolen’ from her hospital, and while you’d expected Lexa to pore over them cover to cover multiple times (she’s that kind of worrier), you’re surprised to find that you read them more often than she does. Nursing school taught you more about the reproductive system and stages of pregnancy than about how a woman actually feels while pregnant, and it’s a whole new ballgame when it’s _you_. So you read, and tell Lexa bits you find interesting, and she listens carefully.

But there are good days and bad days for everything in life, and pregnancy is no different. It doesn’t always feel like you’ve changed all that much. Your morning sickness lasted a few weeks, but it was just you throwing up a couple times and only in the mornings. You got off easy with that part. You're five months along so your stomach is definitely noticeably larger, but it’s not uncomfortable yet. You can still see your toes, which is a plus. You urinate a little more often, but that’s to be expected as well. You’ve got a kid growing and pushing on your bladder – not much you can do about that. The weight gain isn’t a lot of fun, but you know it’s necessary and you can just lose it after you have the baby. You’ll make Lexa take you running, or something – even though you _don’t_ do that.

The bodily changes are not the problem. What’s killing you right now, though, is the mental aspect. You’re a nurse. You understand all the hormone changes going on inside you. Your neurotransmitters are firing at all kinds of crazy levels and you don’t really have a say in what your body feels sometimes.

You cry at weird things. Never in public, thank _god_ – at least not yet – but sometimes you can barely hold on until you’re alone before the tears start flowing down your cheeks.

And today – it’s just been a really _bad_ day. Nothing went horribly wrong, but nothing went right, either. You’d forgotten that Lexa had told you she was going to go to the gym early before work because she hadn’t hit a punching bag with Anya in forever, so you woke up alone and that made you grumpy. Then the hot water ran out in your shower. When you finally made it to work, a patient’s wife had yelled at you first thing about the quality of the hospital cafeteria food (which of course you have total control over). So you’d pretty much started your shift and immediately had to escape to a bathroom to cry a little because of your _stupid fucking hormones_. And the day never really got better.

“Bye, Wells,” you mutter when your shift finally ends, still frazzled and hormonal and so, so tired.

“You okay to drive, Clarke?” Wells asks worriedly. “I can take you home, if you want?” he offers.

You try to give him your best and most convincing smile. “I’m just a little tired,” you reassure him, touched. “I’ll be fine.” He nods, accepting your refusal with grace.

Friday evening traffic _sucks_. You probably should have taken Wells up on his offer. You could have napped the whole way. But you make it, and you thank every god ever that it _is_ Friday, because Lexa will already be home from work. You have found out in the last five months that when you have days like the one you just did, only excessive amounts of cuddling from your wife will make you feel like a human being again.

Sure enough, Lexa is there, lying calmly on the couch and reading a book as she waits for you. You lock the front door and stumble over to her, and with one look Lexa can tell that you have absolutely no wish to talk, so she just silently raises her arms, book still secure in her grasp. You crawl under with a grateful sigh, finding a comfortable position that’s half on your side, half on her stomach, your own slightly swollen abdomen filling the space between you two. Lexa rests her arms lightly on your back, and immediately the stress trickles out of your neck and shoulders.

You’re still kind of sad for no reason and you know that’s just hormones and that you’re really fine, but you let yourself be comforted by Lexa’s presence anyway. Eventually, listening to the steady beat of your wife’s heart and her even breathing as she continues to read, you drift off.

You wake up a few hours later, feeling much more like yourself. Somehow, despite your extra weight, Lexa was able to carry you to your guys’ bed and cover you. You vaguely remember a kiss on your forehead and grabbing Lexa’s hand so she couldn’t leave. Sure enough, she is nestled up behind you – and normally you’re the big spoon, but you think you could get used to being the cuddled instead of the cuddler. You still grip her hand tight to your chest, and her nose is buried in your hair. You hum happily, snuggling further back into your wife.

“Feeling better?” she asks you softly.

You nod. “Thank you. You make everything better,” you admit un-self-consciously. It’s true. Ever since you met Lexa, she’s been making you and everything else around her better. She is so _steady_ , and after everything she went through as a teenager, your wife could have turned out so differently. She could have chosen to be angry, closed off, unwilling to give anyone a chance – but instead she became someone interns in her office came to for advice and help with school and life, a person who was honest and fair with her clients, and when you dug a couple layers deeper where she tried to hide it with bravado, a person who was _kind_.

You turn over, maneuvering yourself so as not to put any pressure on your swollen stomach, and nuzzle into Lexa’s neck. She hums. “I am so in love with you,” you mutter.

“That’s just your hormones,” Lexa teases back.

You nip her pulse in recrimination. “No. I am _so_ in love with you,” you insist.

Lips press against your forehead. “Me too.”

It’s getting late, and the two of you are going to have to get up soon to make dinner, but Lexa seems content to hold you, for now, and you find yourself unwilling to leave her arms quite yet. So you snuggle in a little closer and breathe her in, ever so grateful that Lexa chooses to be with you every day and gives you the chance to choose her.


	13. My Cruel Friend is a Funeral Bell Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Complications hamper Clarke’s pregnancy
> 
> Or
> 
> Lexa was not prepared to lose her wife today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to remind everyone that this is not written chronologically. Everything’s cool, nobody panic. I ended up splitting this into two parts. This chapter was originally only briefly mentioned in the next one, but I felt there was enough that needed explaining to justify its own chapter. So there’s a double dose of angst coming up.

_April 14, 2020_

“You ready to go on leave?” you ask your wife as she moans tiredly after getting home from work.

“ _So_ ready,” Clarke mumbles from where her face is buried in a pillow. Her stomach is much larger than it was two months ago, and you know it has grown uncomfortable. Clarke’s back hurts, her feet hurt, everything hurts, as she’s told you many times. You do the best you can to make her feel better, but it doesn’t always work. “You know what I’m more ready for? This parasite to be out of my stomach,” she grouses.

You chuckle. “If you keep calling her that, she’s gonna get a complex,” you warn her. “Next thing you know, she’ll think her name is Parasite.”

Clarke just pats her stomach gently. “She knows her name is Tris – you and I tell her often enough.”

You kneel down beside the bed to give Clarke’s abdomen a kiss. “She doesn’t mean to be a bother, do you Tris?” you whisper into your wife’s skin.

“She can’t answer back yet,” Clarke drawls, running her fingers through your hair. “Give her another couple months, and you can baby talk her all you want.”

“Oh, I will,” you promise. “Now, why don’t I run you a bath, and you get undressed so you can relax for a bit, hmm?”

Clarke hums in agreement, pulling you down for a kiss. “What did I do to deserve you?” she wonders.

You grin. “I am something, aren’t I?” you agree.

Clarke laughs and shoves you away. “Conceited, is what you are. Go get that bath started,” she orders imperiously.

“Rude,” you scoff. “See if I join you now.”

A few minutes later, you hear a muffled thump over the sound of the water filling the tub. Concerned, you turn off the faucet and look over your shoulder. “Clarke? Babe, are you okay?” you call.

There’s no answer. Now worried, you hurry back into the bedroom. “Clarke!” you gasp, running to where your wife is collapsed on the floor, her eyes closed. “Clarke, wake up!” You roll her carefully onto her side, checking her pulse. You breathe a sigh of relief when it comes through strong and steady. “Clarke!” you yell again.

A soft groan is your answer, and you can breathe again. “Clarke, honey, open your eyes,” you beg. “Please, come on. Answer me. Open your eyes.”

Slowly – oh, so slowly – Clarke’s eyes flutter open. “Lexa?” she murmurs tiredly. “What happened?”

“You fainted, Clarke. I need to take you to the hospital, come on.” You scoop her up into your arms, snatching your car keys and a jacket for Clarke as you leave the apartment. You set her gently down in the passenger seat, throwing the jacket over her lap and buckling her in.

As you get behind the wheel, Clarke’s eyes close again. “No, Clarke! You have to stay awake,” you demand, grabbing your wife’s hand as you pull out of the parking lot.

“I’m sleepy, Lex,” she complains softly. “I just want to –”

You tighten your hold on her hand. “I know babe, but you need to keep your eyes open right now. What happened, Clarke? What did you feel before you passed out?” you ask, attempting to keep her awake.

Clarke’s silent for a moment as she tries to think. “Tired and – and a little dizzy,” she finally answers.

“Okay, that’s good, Clarke,” you encourage her. You glance over whenever you can take your eyes off the road to make sure your wife is still awake. “What else? Did you feel sick at work today?”

“No,” she mutters. “Just tired. I want to sleep, Lexa,” she whines.

“I know, I know. You’re doing so great Clarke, just a little bit more, okay?” you plead. “Just stay with me a little bit longer until we get to the hospital, and then you can sleep as much as you like, alright? Just stay with me.”

A tiny squeeze of your hand is your reply. “Always,” Clarke whispers. She’s quiet the rest of the trip, but every time you look, her eyes are still open and fixed on you.

As soon as you reach the hospital, you toss the keys at the valet, promising them you’ll be back. The boy offers a wheelchair, but you just wave him off and take Clarke into your arms again and hurry into the Emergency Room. “I need some help!” you call. “Please, I need help!”

A secretary runs to the restricted area and not long after, a nurse comes out and makes her way to where you’re still holding Clarke. “Bring her back here,” she says immediately. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I was in the other room and I heard her fall. I ran in and she was unconscious on the floor. She woke up a minute later, but she says she’s really tired and was dizzy before she passed out,” you rush to explain, trying not to leave anything out. “I kept her awake the drive here – what’s wrong with her?”

The nurse indicates for you to set Clarke down on a gurney. Your wife whines, feebly trying to hang onto you when you let her go, but you shush her gently and take her hand. It’s only a few seconds longer before Clarke appears to fall asleep.

“I don’t know what’s wrong yet, but you did a good job. What’s her name and what’s your relation to her?” the nurse asks. She begins taking Clarke’s vitals.

“Clarke Griffin and I’m her wife, Lexa.”

The nurse nods, writing things quickly into a chart as she checks the machines. “Okay, Lexa. How far along is Clarke?”

“Seven months.”

“Alright. Clarke’s pressure is a little low, so we’re going to start an IV of saline to bring that up, and then we’re going to get her an ultrasound to see how the fetus is doing, okay? Has she complained of these symptoms before?” the nurse asks calmly.

You shake your head. “No, she hasn’t mentioned anything. She’s been tired, but that’s normal, right?” Had you missed something?

The nurse – her tag reads Monroe – puts a soft hand on your arm and you quiet down. “That’s normal, yes. If this is the first time, that’s good. This far along, Clarke just probably waited a little too long between meals, and it was most likely a one-time thing,” Monroe reassures you. “Did she work today?”

You nod. “She’s the ICU charge nurse here – she had a shift today. She goes on maternity next week.”

“I thought I recognized the name,” Monroe nods. “Clarke is going to be just fine, Lexa. I’m going to get the doctor, and she’s going to admit her. We’ll bring her pressure up, the doctor will probably want to keep her overnight for observation, and we’ll see how that baby is doing, okay?”

You finally take a breath and allow yourself to relax slightly. Clarke’s going to be alright. Monroe brings back the ER doctor – who introduces herself as Luna – and then fetches an ultrasound. “Does Clarke need to be awake for this?” you ask, still holding tight to your wife’s hand.

“No. We can let her sleep – she needs that more than anything, I think,” Luna replies. Monroe rolls over the machine. “Let’s see what we’ve got.” Luna pushes Clarke’s shirt up enough to expose her stomach and pours the gel onto the scope.

Clarke whimpers in her sleep when the cold gel touches her skin, but you soothe her until she’s sound asleep once more. “How is she?” you ask Luna.

“The baby is looking great, Lexa,” Luna reassures you. “I don’t see any signs of distress, her vitals are steady. No harm done from the fall. She’s a little sideways, but she’ll have plenty of time to orient herself before Clarke goes into labor.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief. Tris was fine. Clarke was fine. Everything was going to be okay. You press a kiss to Clarke’s forehead. “I can stay with her tonight, right?”

Luna nods. “Of course. Give us just a few minutes and we’ll set Clarke up in a room. We’ll have to wake her after that so she can eat. We’re giving her fluids, but if she can, I’d like Clarke to get some calories in tonight as well. We’ll run another ultrasound in the morning to make sure there aren’t any hidden problems with the baby, and then if Clarke’s pressure is good and she holds down her breakfast, I should be able to release her. How does that sound?”

“Amazing, Doctor,” you agree fervently. “Thank you so much.”

“Try not to worry, Lexa,” Luna tells you. “We’re going to take good care of your wife.”

* * *

While you’re waiting for Clarke to be moved from the ER into her own room, you tear yourself away to call Anya.

“Hello?” Raven answers. “Lexa?”

“Raven, where’s Anya? I need to talk to her.”

“She’s in the shower – what’s up?”

“Can you just get her, please?” you ask. “I really need to speak with her.” You can’t talk to Raven right now. She’ll call Octavia, and then they’ll all come down to the hospital and the last thing Clarke needs is to be crowded.

“Okay, okay, geez,” Raven grumbles.

There’s a muffled thumping and subsequent murmuring, then Anya’s voice comes over the phone. “Lexa, what is it?”

You take a deep breath. “I need you to not react because Raven is with you,” you start off.

“Alright,” Anya says hesitantly. “Hit me with it.”

“Clarke’s in the hospital,” you blurt out.

To Anya’s everlasting credit, she remains calm like you asked. “Explain.”

“She passed out and fell when she got home from work,” you comply. “I drove her to the Emergency Room – the doctor said her blood pressure was too low, which caused the fainting. They want to keep her overnight but they’re telling me she’s fine and the baby is okay too.”

“Do you want me to come over?”

“No, no. Clarke’s asleep. If you come, then Raven will, and she’ll call Octavia, who will bring Lincoln, and Bellamy will show up, and it’ll be a madhouse. I don’t think it’s best for that amount of people to be around Clarke tonight,” you explain. “If she can go home in the morning, I’ll call you and you can stop by then.”

There’s a pause. “Alright. I’m going to go finish my shower with Raven that you interrupted,” Anya finally says. That makes you crack a smile. “Be safe, Lexa.”

It’s what she always ends her calls to you with – she started when you were sixteen – and it makes a lump climb up your throat before you swallow it back down. “You too, Ahn.” You hang up just as the transport team comes to fetch Clarke. You follow them to the third floor and wait in the doorway as they get Clarke situated and a nurse makes sure the IV wasn’t jostled.

Clarke sleeps through it all. If you weren’t still _so_ worried, you’d be impressed by her ability to not wake up with all the bustle around her. The nurse smiles at you before she follows the lift team out, quietly saying that she’ll be back in a little while to check on Clarke and see about getting her some food. You nod, finding yourself unable to say another word.

Once the staff are gone, you go take a seat beside your wife. You grab her hand again and bring it to your lips, needing to be reassured by her warm alive-ness. “Thank you for not leaving me,” you breathe into her skin.

There’s no response. It’s another hour before Clarke stirs again. “Lexa?” she murmurs sleepily. “Where are we?”

You jolt up at the sound of her voice. “Clarke! Hey, how are you feeling?”

“A little weird. Why am I at Ark?” your wife asks, recognizing the room after a second glance.

“You fainted, Clarke. You remember?” you prod.

Clarke’s face scrunches in thought before realization dawns. “I was dizzy and then I fell. Probably something to do with my blood pressure – I didn’t get to eat much of my lunch before we had an incoming trauma…Tris! Is Tris okay?” she asks frantically.

“Shh, Tris is fine. You’re both just fine,” you calm her, running your fingers through her hair. “You had me so worried, Clarke. If something happened to you, I –” You can’t go on, all the fear from the day catching up to you. You bury your face in the crook of her neck, tears finally escaping your eyes and running down your cheeks.

“Lexa – Lex, it’s alright,” Clarke’s IV-free hand comes up to settle on the back of your head. “Lexa, pretty girl, look at me.”

Sniffing, you obey. Clarke meets your gaze, bringing her hand around to wipe your tears away gently. You drop your head again, not wanting Clarke to see you weak when she should be focused on getting better, but she tucks her hand under your chin to bring you back up.

“You are not weak, Lexa,” she tells you like she can read your mind. After all this time, it wouldn’t surprise you if she could. “You did everything right. I remember what happened. You got me here, you kept me awake and talking – you did everything right, Lexa,” she reassures you.

You shudder, trying to keep your emotions in check. “Can I kiss you?” you whisper.

Clarke grins, and it’s the best thing you’ve seen all day. “Of course, pretty girl. You never have to ask.”

So you do, and it’s a shattering kind of kiss. It makes you want to cry again, but you hold the tears back this time because Clarke is safe. Tomorrow she’ll get to go home, you’ll probably have to deal with a very upset Raven, and you’ll call the hospital to inform them that Clarke is going on maternity early.

But those are worries for tomorrow. For now, you kiss Clarke from her hospital bed, and the angle isn’t the best, but that makes it sort of real and perfect.


	14. My Cruel Friend Is A Funeral Bell Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Complications hamper Clarke's labor.
> 
> Or
> 
> Anya was not prepared to watch Lexa lose her wife today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is part two of this little segment. And with that, I'm very nearly officially out of prompts. I've got one or two small ones left, and I'll do my best to turn those into chapters, but after that, I need your help! Ideas, people!

_May 26, 2020_

You get the frantic call from Raven at five o’clock. “Anya! Clarke went into labor early and she’s in a super lot of pain. Like, too much. Octavia’s calling the paramedics and I need to get back to Clarke can you please call Lexa?” your girlfriend begs.

You bolt up from where you were lazing on the couch, waiting for Raven to get home. “Rave, what do you mean ‘pain’? What am I supposed to tell Lexa – is Clarke okay?”

There’s a pause. “I don’t know, Anya,” Raven’s strangled voice finally replies. “Just call Lexa.” She hangs up without another word.

Cursing, you throw on the first shirt you find over your tank and pull some shoes on, grabbing your keys. On your way to the car, you call Lexa.

“Anya, I’m a little busy finishing things up, here,” Lexa’s annoyance comes through. “I really want to get these papers lined up so I can go on leave, alright?”

“Lexa you need to get to Ark Hospital right now,” you say quickly.

“Why, what’s wrong?” Lexa is instantly worried. “What happened?”

“…It’s Clarke.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then panic. “What happened to Clarke? Is she okay? Is the baby okay? What happened, what’s wrong? Did she fall again?” Lexa doesn’t even stop to take a breath and let you answer as she continues firing questions at you.

“Lexa!” you finally yell. “I don’t know what happened. Raven called me and said that Clarke went into labor early and she was in a lot of pain and they were calling an ambulance. That was all she told me, but you need to get to Ark, okay?” You leave out the part where Raven said she didn’t know if Clarke was going to be alright. “Just get there, and be careful.”

“Shit. Shit, okay, I’m on my way.” Your friend hangs up.

“Fuck,” you snarl as you get into your car. You pray that Lexa stays safe and doesn’t do anything reckless to get to the hospital faster.

* * *

You arrive and immediately spot Raven and Octavia huddled in chairs not far from the reception desk, looking terrified. Bellamy paces furiously behind them, staring at the floor. You approach him first. “Call her mother,” you order tersely. He startles a bit at the interruption, but nods gratefully at having something to do. He moves outside to make the call.

You ask for an update, and a nurse comes out a few minutes later to tell you Clarke’s condition. A lot of the terms fly over your head, but there are several that you recognize that worry you deeply. The gist of it is that it’s not going well.

Twenty minutes later, you’re worried that Lexa hasn’t shown up yet. You hope that she just got caught in Friday rush hour and nothing has happened to her as well. Time goes on, though, and you’re getting ready to call her again when she bursts into the waiting area.

You don’t recognize your best friend. There’s no trace of her in those wild, scared eyes, and that frightens you. She immediately moves toward the receptionist but you intercept her.

“Lexa. Lexa. Stop for a minute.”

“Where is Clarke?” the younger woman demands. “Where is she, I want to see her right now.”

You hesitate. “You can’t right now,” you finally decide on.

Lexa visibly stiffens, her face hardening into a livid mask. “Fuck you, Anya,” she hisses. “I don’t care if you’re my best friend – if you don’t get out of my way right now, I will _make you move_.”

She shoves past you. “Clarke’s in surgery!” you call after her. “And – and it’s not looking great,” you say reluctantly.

Lexa whirls around. “What happened!? Everything was _fine_. Everything was fine, and now you’re telling me that my wife could be _dying_ somewhere in this hospital. What. _Happened_!?”

You try to remember everything important the nurse told you. “The baby was still sideways when Clarke went into labor. It didn’t fix itself the way it was supposed to – didn’t have time the doctor said. Its shoulder got lodged and it couldn’t fit. Dyst- something, I don’t remember.”

Lexa is fidgeting, and you know your time to explain is limited. “That caused the pain Raven told me about. It also caused some tearing – somewhere. Clarke started bleeding and the baby couldn’t fit so they had to take her into surgery to get the baby out and they got her out, she’s fine, but Clarke went into shock from the blood loss with the pain. And now they’re trying to stop the bleeding but Lexa – the shock stopped Clarke’s heart. They got it going again but the nurse told me that if it happens again, Clarke may not be strong enough for them restart it another time.”

Lexa’s turned ashen, and she wordlessly spins and stalks up to the reception desk and demands Clarke’s location. You run after Lexa when she takes off in the direction the frightened secretary points her. Something tells you it’s not just Clarke that’s in danger right now. As you leave the room you hear Octavia mutter, “If something happens to Clarke and that baby…”

“Lexa won’t be able to handle it,” Raven replies.

You hope to god they’re wrong.

Lexa is nearly blocked by a locked door that can only be opened by a staff ID, but an employee exits just as she reaches it and she slips through before it can close. You speed up and just barely manage to get your fingertips in the door as it shuts. Lexa is skidding around a corner already and you have to rush to keep up.

As you burst into the operating room, you’re just in time to see a male nurse reach out to make Lexa leave, only to be shoved into a wall. Lexa’s arm is a bar across his throat, and though she doesn’t press down, the man looks terrified.

“Lexa! This isn’t helping anything!” you yell at her. “Put him down!”

Another man is moving to help his colleague but then Wells, whom you hadn’t noticed before, interrupts. “No! She’s Clarke’s wife. It’s okay, just back off.” He approaches Lexa slowly, who is preoccupied with glaring at the man she still holds against the wall and casting anxious glances at Clarke lying deathly still on the gurney. “Lexa? Lexa, let him go and you can see Clarke, alright? Just let him go,” he coaxes.

You hold your breath, waiting to see what your friend will do. There’s another tense few moments, and then Lexa drops him after one more piercing glare. You wrap your arms around Lexa and haul her away. The nurse scoots off immediately, hand at his throat. Lexa doesn’t fight you even as you practically hold her in the air, just staring at Clarke with lost eyes. Wells is quick to place himself in front of Lexa, making her meet his gaze. “She’s still alive, Lex. You just need to go outside and scrub up and then you can see her, okay?” he reassures her gently. “We don’t want to introduce any bacteria to her.”

Lexa nods silently, still trapped within your arms. You release all but one hand and drag her outside to wash. When you deem her clean, Lexa rushes back into the room to stand at Clarke’s head. Clarke is still unconscious, but you think it’s a good sign that she’s breathing with just an oxygen mask.

“How is she?” Lexa asks Wells. You don’t like her voice. It’s dead. Emotionless. Like she’s already accepted the fact that Clarke is gone and she’s just waiting for confirmation.

“She’s hanging in there,” Wells replies quietly. “They found the bleed and stopped it. They started a transfusion and pumped her full of fluids to try to keep her from going into shock again. Her heart rate’s irregular, but just on the right side of troublesome, and her pressure is low, but as long as it doesn’t bottom out again, she should pull through. She’s strong, Lex.”

Lexa nods. “I know.” She leans down, and you think you hear her whisper, “Please don’t leave me,” in Clarke’s ear.

It’s another hour before the surgeon is confident enough to state that Clarke is stable and there’s nothing more that can be done. Lexa never moves from Clarke’s side, and you are right behind her. You tag along as they move Clarke to her own ICU, wanting to make sure Lexa doesn’t break down again. Or to at least be there when she does.

Wells stops before he leaves to find Raven and Octavia to give you an update on Lexa’s newborn daughter, telling you that she is doing better than expected, but will need to remain in the NICU for a day or two just in case.

You nod your thanks, eyes fixed on Lexa’s back hunched over Clarke’s bedside. Clarke’s oxygen mask has been removed, so at least she’s under some of her own power. She’s far too pale, though, and Lexa looks like she is inches away from flying all to pieces. You give her a few hours uninterrupted by Clarke’s side, constant tight grip on her wife’s hand.

Raven and Octavia eventually come up, but you meet them at the door. “Just give her some time,” you whisper. “Clarke’s stable. I think she’ll be okay as long as nothing else goes wrong, according to Wells. Lexa just needs to figure that out.”

The two friends look conflicted, but nod. Raven gives you a quick kiss, telling you quietly that they’ll be down in the cafeteria if anything happens. You sling an arm around your girlfriend’s shoulders, bringing her into you for a swift hug. You’re not one for public displays – or even exuberant private ones – but this has jarred you. Lexa is a disaster, and you’re starting to realize you might not be much better off if something similar happened to Raven.

Not that you want kids. Hell no – little blighters. Fun to look at and play with for an afternoon and then lovely to hand back over to the parents. That’s as far into child-rearing as you wish to delve. But – you already worry enough about Raven’s leg on snowy days, and that accident happened years before you even met her, let alone dated her. You can’t imagine dealing with something like that now that you lo-

Never mind that. Re-focus on Lexa.

You watch her some more. Your best friend hasn’t moved a centimeter in the last three and a half hours. You can barely even see her breathe, although it appears she’s timing it with Clarke’s shallow inhales. Whether that’s conscious or not, you can’t tell.

Wells eventually returns, informing you that the infant is strong enough to be visited. You’re not sure you can get Lexa to leave Clarke, but you’ll try. He explains a few more details of possible complications they’re watching out for but the infant seems to have luckily avoided so far, and you make note of them to tell Lexa later.

A nurse comes by to check Clarke right then, stating that she’s stable and even improved a little, and you risk approaching Lexa. “Lexa. Wells said you can see your daughter now. Let’s go down there – get you a change of scenery,” you suggest.

Lexa just shrugs you off. “No. I’ll see her later. This – Clarke – she’s more important right now,” she struggles to get out.

You grit your teeth, but try to be patient. “You heard the nurse. Clarke is stable. She’s tough. She’s going to be fine. Wells is fully qualified to look after her and is also her best friend, and he promises not to leave her side, right?” You look over your shoulder.

Wells is quick to speak up. “I’ll have you notified if anything changes the slightest bit. But she’s past most of the danger, Lexa,” he coaxes.

“Clarke isn’t the only one who needs you right now, Lexa,” you remind her.

Lexa shakes her head defiantly. “I can have another kid,” she says callously. “I can’t have another Clarke.”

You gape at her. That isn’t your friend speaking. That isn’t the best friend who has never been so excited for something in her life – except maybe marrying Clarke. Lexa cares deeply for her child already and you’ve seen it. You think maybe she’s in some kind of shock or something (although you’re certainly not medically qualified to decide that), so you go with a direct approach.

You grab Lexa by the shoulders and spin her around to glare at her. “No! No, you listen to me Alexandria Delaney Woods. What would Clarke think if she heard you say that?” Lexa visibly flinches at the mention of her wife’s name, but you plow on ruthlessly. She needs a good kick in the ass. “That’s your _daughter_ , down there, alone in a hospital room, all of five hours old, and she needs you. You can have another kid, sure, but you can’t have another one of _that_ kid, do you understand me? Now get your ass in that room or so help me, I will lock you in a broom closet.”

Huffing, Lexa allows herself to be drug downstairs to the NICU and to the room Wells told you her daughter was being kept in. You practically shove her through the door and wait a minute to observe. You can see in the set of her body that Lexa is psyching herself up to just take a peek and go straight back to her wife, but the instant she actually leans over the glass and lays eyes on her daughter, you see her melt.

You quietly come in after giving her a couple minutes, and you smile slightly at the look of love and awe on Lexa’s face as she meets her daughter for the first time. “Look what we made, Ahn,” Lexa finally whispers.

“She’s something, isn’t she?” you agree.

A tear slips down Lexa’s cheek but she ignores it. The baby has got wires all around her and a bunch of machines displaying numbers that you don’t understand and you’re sure Lexa doesn’t either (Clarke would – she could explain it all – and you suddenly wish so much that she was next to Lexa right now so they could do this together), and a tiny mask sits over her mouth and nose and it all looks very serious. But Lexa can do nothing but stare at this tiny little human that she helped create.

“Look at her toes,” she murmurs. “They’re so small and perfect.”

“Wells said she’s doing really well for being early and despite all the complications. He said it could have damaged the nerves, broken her arm, or caused brain damage if she didn’t start breathing soon enough, but they got her out in time. Her lungs are a little underdeveloped, but she should be able to breathe on her own in a few hours, he hopes. He told me the doctors said you can hold her after that, maybe even take her to see Clarke tonight.”

Lexa nods. She reaches her hand into the bed and gently brushes against her daughter’s little fingers. The baby immediately latches on to her mother’s index finger, holding it tight. “She’s so strong,” Lexa breathes.

“She’s gonna be a little T-Rex, just like her Mama,” you state proudly.

“I can’t lose her Ahn,” Lexa mutters. “I can’t do this on my own.”

“Hey. Look at me.” You tilt Lexa’s head to face you without disrupting the child’s hold. “Clarke is going to be fine. She’s stable. But if the unthinkable _does_ happen – it won’t, but if it does – you will never be alone. You will have me and Raven, Octavia and Lincoln, Bellamy, Wells, and Abby, and we are all going to take care of this kid, okay?” you reassure her. “But you can’t think like that because Clarke is going to be _fine_.”

At the unexpected pep talk from you of all people, Lexa crumbles. She collapses into you, careful not to disturb the infant who’s still got a death grip on her finger, and just cries. And if you do say so yourself, you take it like a champ. You absolutely abhor tears, but this time your friend needs you desperately, and you’ll be there for her now like you were when she was sixteen.

When Lexa’s done, you set her upright. “Okay. You go back to Clarke – you should be there when she wakes up. I’ll stay with the munchkin as long as you send Rave down here to keep me entertained. Does T-Rex have a name yet?”

Lexa nods shakily. “We didn’t want to say anything until she was born. But with Clarke –”

She can’t finish, so you step in. “Okay, so hold it over us until Clarke wakes up, that’s fine,” you roll your eyes and grumble, making Lexa give a watery laugh. “I can wait a few hours, I guess.”

You are surprised by the powerful hug you get from Lexa. “Thank you,” she whispers.

“Anytime kiddo. I mean that this time.”

That makes Lexa laugh a bit wetly once more. “What has Raven done to you?”

“Turned me into a sap like you and Clarke, horror of horrors,” you drawl. “Now get out of here, midget. Your wife will be pissed if she wakes up and you’re not there.”

Lexa nods and makes to leave, but she pauses at the door. “Anya.” You glance over at her. “We – we named her Tris,” she reveals.

Your breath catches slightly. You’re pretty sure you’re one of only two people in the world to know the importance of that name to Lexa, and the significance is not lost on you. “It’s perfect,” you finally reply. Lexa just takes a deep breath, nods, and retreats quickly. You look down at the small bundle below. “Came in like a storm, eh, Tris?” you compliment her. “Definitely Lexa’s kid.”

* * *

It’s another fourteen hours of agonizing wait before Clarke’s eyes open. Lexa had left her only once more to briefly hold Tris before returning to her wife’s side. She’s right beside her when Clarke finally wakes. You watch their reunion silently from the corner, relief flooding through you. You’d helped patch up a broken Lexa once, but it had taken Clarke to really glue the pieces you’d only had tape for – you don’t think you could have fixed the mess Lexa would be without Clarke.

Clarke is whispering reassuring words as Lexa cries and tells her about their daughter, thanking Clarke for not leaving her and begging her to never scare her like that again. Reprimanding her for frightening her _worse_ than when she’d taken her fall, not meaning a word of it. You give them some privacy, and the last thing you see before you close the door is Clarke weakly tugging your friend down for a long awaited kiss.

 _Could’ve gone worse_ , you think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you DO have any prompts for me, write them below of find me at 'fairytaleslayer' on Tumblr. I appreciate all the ideas you guys have given me and I look forward to more! Thanks for reading!


	15. In My House on a Hill There is Room for You Still

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's room for one more in the Griffin-Woods household, now Clarke and Lexa just have to find the right kid.
> 
> Or
> 
> Clarke finds Aiden in a hospital cradle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to nmfire who wanted to see the circumstances of how Aiden came into their lives. Thanks for all the ideas guys!

_March 24, 2022_

Tris is a few months from her second birthday, and you’ve been thinking more and more about having another child. Lexa has expressly forbidden you ever being pregnant again, although you’d assured her countless times that the odds of you having the same complications you did with Tris a second time were low. She had been adamant, though, and you’d found it impossible to argue with her.

You remember how fearful she’d been for weeks of something else going wrong, despite your full recovery. She had been so gentle with you, careful in her touches, her embraces, and even how close she was when she slept next to you. You’d let it go for a while, knowing she was just as if not more traumatized than you, before you got fed up and insisted that you weren’t made of glass. After that, Lexa calmed down some, but you still caught her trying to do things for you – just more slyly.

But it’s been almost two years, Tris is lovely and good, and everything is back to normal: apart from the whole ban on having another kid thing Lexa still enforces. You haven’t given up, but you are willing to look into other avenues, which Lexa is much more comfortable with.

Adoption seems a reasonable way to go. It’s a long and occasionally costly process, but money isn’t really an issue and you have all the time in the world. You and Lexa also don’t care about race, gender, or age – although it would be nice if the child wasn’t too far in years from Tris, so she could have someone to play with. The two of you agree that remaining in country is best, as there are plenty of children who need help here.

You hadn’t realized how many steps and how arduous the adoption process was until the two of you began looking into it seriously a few months ago. There’s finding an agency, finding a child, applying, having a home visit from a social worker before they even think of letting the child live with you to make sure you have a stable and safe environment. And even after you have the kid, there’s a probation period with visits from the social worker and that can last up to two years. And _so_ much paperwork. It hurts your eyes just thinking about reading all that paperwork.

But then you remember how badly you want another child to hold and love and Lexa’s dreams of your children running and laughing together through the halls of your home, and you don’t care about the process. And you haven’t found the child that feels right yet, but you’re willing to wait. You need to make sure that it will be a good fit for all of you, the kid included. That you can be a family together.

It takes as long as it takes.

* * *

You’re working in the pediatric ICU ward tonight. It’s not your area, but you took the shift for a friend, and you’re qualified, so why not? It’s an interesting change of pace, and you’re all full of motherly instincts because of Tris, so it’s been a nice night so far. Lexa didn’t like that it was an overnight shift, but you had assured her that she would be just fine with Tris on her own for the night, and it would be good bonding time for the two of them.

Tris had been clingy, her almost two year old mind not understanding why Mommy was saying good night just after her last meal of the day. It had taken ten minutes to stop her crying and screaming whenever you tried to hand her off to Lexa, which had not improved Lexa’s confidence in her abilities to be Mama by herself for the whole night. But you’d managed to slip out with one last quick kiss to Lexa’s cheek and escaped to work.

“We’ve got incoming, Clarke,” another nurse announced.

You snap yourself out of your thoughts. “Okay, Fox. What’s the story?”

“One year old, male, only survivor of a car accident. Killed his parents on impact. He’s got a broken femur, a pneumo, and two broken ribs as well as various superficial injuries,” Fox replies.

You hiss in sympathy. The kid’s got his work cut out for him. “And he made it here?” You’re surprised, although delighted. He’s tough.

Fox nods, surprised herself. “Paramedics didn’t think he would. Neither did the surgeons, but he’s pulled through okay so far.”

“Any family?”

“They’re looking into it now, but they’re having trouble. Seems the parents didn’t have a lot of close relatives.”

You nod. “Keep me posted on that front.” Just then, the transport team rolls in a tiny, closed omnibed. “Put him in there,” you direct, pointing the men to the room closest to the desks, so you can be alerted at a moment’s notice to any distress. “Give me an update.”

“Aiden, one year old exactly. Fracture of the femur, set. Broken ribs wrapped and collapsed lung re-inflated. Crashed once in the OR and currently on the ventilator, central line installed,” the accompanying nurse recites dutifully.

You frown in concern. Aiden’s not in as good a shape as you’d hoped. You peer through the cover of the cradle as the team gets him set up, getting your first look at the boy. He’s beautiful – dark skin and a thick head of curly black hair and perfect little hands and feet. And your heart aches that he’s just barely into life and already he’s alone.

“It’s his birthday,” you murmur sadly as you look over his chart.

* * *

Aiden and the rest of your patients are quiet throughout the night, and you go home after checking on your newest patient one more time. He’s stable, and you make a mental note to look in on him in the coming days.

Lexa’s up and waiting for you by the time you trudge through the door. You give her a look when you see Tris sleeping soundly next to her while she reads in bed. You’d talked about this.

“What?” Lexa asks defensively. “She missed you at bedtime.”

You can’t hold back a smile. “She’s got you wrapped around her finger,” you tell your wife, giving her a kiss. “It’s adorable.”

Lexa grunts. “I could make her sleep in her room if I wanted to,” she mutters.

“Sure,” you giggle. “Go for it, then.”

Lexa look down at your daughter, biting her lip, then back at you. “I don’t want her awake yet,” she finally decides on.

You laugh quietly. “You’re adorable.” You disappear into the bathroom.

“Am not!” Lexa’s indignant protest follows you, making you laugh harder.

There’s some muffled whining as you wash your face, and you know Tris just woke up. Lexa shushes her, and you hear the quiet beginnings of a crying fest taper off, making you grin. You don’t know why Lexa is always so nervous to be alone with Tris. She’s amazing at parenting.

“How’s my favorite girl?” you coo as you leave the bathroom. Tris brightens from where she’s resting her head on Lexa’s shoulder, a last tear still dampening her cheek.

“Mommie!” Tris’ little voice squeals. Lexa flinches, handing the toddler off to you.

You take her gladly. “I missed you, baby girl! Were you good for Mama?” Tris doesn’t answer, merely cuddling up into your neck. You sit down close enough to curl into Lexa’s side with Tris on your other shoulder. Lexa has gone back to reading, but she puts her arm around you so her thumb can rub circles into Tris’ back.

The three of you relax like that for a while, and you’re pretty sure Tris goes back to sleep. “We had a new patient come in tonight,” you murmur after a good twenty minutes of silence. “Little boy, not in great shape. But he’s survived so much already and now he’s all alone.”

“I’m sorry,” Lexa whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Will he be okay?”

You shrug. “Maybe. He’s strong – he’s made it so far. You should have seen him. His name is Aiden and he’s so cute – _so_ much hair. It’s like this little afro.”

“His parents?”

“Died in the accident. They’re trying to track down relatives now,” you inform her.

“Well, hopefully someone takes him. Otherwise he’ll end up in the system.” A thought occurs to you, and Lexa picks up on it immediately. “No, Clarke. Do not get attached to this boy. He’s probably got some aunt or uncle that will gladly raise him. You cannot get your hopes up.”

Reluctantly, you agree. “But when we drop Tris off with Octavia on Monday, you should come see him before you go in to the firm. You’ll fall in love with him, too,” you insist.

“I don’t want to fall in love with a kid we likely won’t get,” Lexa denies, unwilling to be disappointed.

“Please, just see him,” you request. “I know you don’t want me to get my hopes up, but I want you to meet him anyway. He deserves to at least have visitors.”

Lexa sighs. “Okay,” she relents. “I’ll come with you and visit him. But please don’t get too attached. I don’t want you hurt when some distant relative takes him in.”

“Promise,” you agree, already knowing that it’s fruitless. Lexa looks at you doubtfully, like she knows it too. You’ve already fallen too hard for this boy. But you snuggle in closer to your wife, ready for a nap, and you hope that it all will work out. And just maybe, you’ve found the child to complete your family.

* * *

Lexa does come with you to the hospital on Monday, and the instant she looks into the little cradle, you can tell she’s smitten. You note with delight that Aiden has improved in the last couple days, and he’s off the ventilator with just a mask to help him breathe. Leaving Lexa with him, you go to find a nurse.

“Hey, can I get an update on 504?” you ask. “I was here when he came in.”

The man nods and looks for the chart. “Aiden Grounds, one year, survivor of a vehicular collision.”

“That’s him,” you nod and take the chart. You pore over it. “What about family? Any news?” you ask absently.

“Parents deceased on impact. Maternal grandparents previously deceased. Paternal grandparents are in a nursing home and unable to care for him, no aunts or uncles. Parents were only children,” the man replies.

“He doesn’t have anyone?”

“There were some second cousins the social worker managed to get ahold of, but they already have four kids of their own and can’t take another infant.”

Your stomach lurches both in excitement and sadness. You’re sad for Aiden and his grandparents, because they just lost their son and daughter-in-law and now have to know that their grandson will end up in the hands of strangers, but you’re excited that your hopes of getting this little boy haven’t been dashed just yet.

* * *

_April 20, 2022_

“Aiden’s getting out of the hospital today,” you announce as soon as you walk through the door.

Lexa looks over her shoulder from where she’s assisting Tris with eating some smashed bananas in her high chair. “Good for him,” she grins. You’d taken her a few more times to see Aiden, and she’d fallen just as in love with him as you had. “What’s his next step?”

“Foster care.” No one had ever come for him, and that saddened you but also you were thrilled because you want nothing more than to have him come home with you. “I spoke with the social worker in charge of his case today,” you add nonchalantly.

“Oh yeah?” Lexa replied, also attempting to look uninterested. “What’d she have to say?”

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face even though you bite your lip to try to contain it. “She said given my medical experience and the fact I already know the history of his case and what his ongoing needs will be, there’s a very good chance the agency would be willing to do a quick home visit to approve us and get him into a stable home to recover as soon as possible,” you reveal.

Lexa gets up from her chair and swoops over to engulf you in a hug. “That’s wonderful!” she exclaims. “That’s amazing, Clarke. I’m so excited.”

“Me too,” you laugh. “I just know he’s the one.” Lexa presses her lips to yours, pouring out her joy that you match.

“Mama!” Tris interrupts your kiss with a wail.

The two of you break apart with a giggle. Lexa goes over to rescue your daughter from the perils of sticky banana fingers. “What’s wrong, little one?” she murmurs, swaying with Tris in her arms. “Did you put your hand where it didn’t belong?” She blows a raspberry on Tris’ neck, making her squeal with laughter.

You get a wet paper towel to clean your daughter’s hands before you cover her face in kisses. “You’re gonna have a new brother,” you coo. “Would you like that, pretty girl?”

“Mommie!” Tris yells joyfully, reaching out for you.

Lexa huffs good-naturedly, handing her over. “I see how it is,” she mutters with pretend ill grace. You kiss her again to make up for it.

“Soon we’ll both have our hands full,” you promise her.

Your wife smiles at you with a peaceful kind of happiness. “I can’t wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow morning I am flying home to see my parents for a week! Yay! Which means I probably won't be writing and I definitely won't be posting because I'm not taking my laptop with me. But I'll have a few days when I get back before school starts so maybe I'll get something out then. Fingers crossed!


	16. You Know He Betrays You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa is taking Clarke out for their first anniversary.
> 
> Or
> 
> Clarke's ex is going to try to ruin their first anniversary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to redgirl-27 who wanted to see some of the firsts of Clarke and Lexa's relationship. Hopefully their first date will be coming, although it won't be the next chapter.
> 
> Also, slight trigger warning: there are very brief instances of homophobic language and name calling, so be careful with that. It's super quick though because that's not the focus of this chapter or story. Otherwise, enjoy!

_July 7, 2015_

You’ve taken Clarke to a nice restaurant for your one year anniversary. At least, you think it’s nice. You’re here on Octavia’s recommendation, and you know Clarke likes Italian, so Italian it is. The place has cute fairy lights in the hedges and dangling from the eaves, and Clarke looks enchanted with the whole set up. You remind yourself to thank Octavia when you see her next. You think maybe you should have brought the black case that’s been sitting in your drawer for just over a week now, but you had decided to wait and see where tonight went before pulling out a ring. In the sock drawer it had stayed.

It’s busy, but not crowded inside, and you’re seated right away with your reservation. It is just after you order drinks – the waitress hasn’t even left yet – when Clarke glances off to her left, does a double take, and stiffens.

“Clarke?” you ask, looking over too. There’s a guy with stupid shaggy hair sitting at a table with another girl, but he’s staring over at your table. Specifically, he’s staring at Clarke. Then he gets up from his chair and begins to walk over to you.

“Fuck,” Clarke hisses under her breath.

“Clarke, what’s wrong?” you want to know.

“Finn,” is her only reply, but that’s all you need to put the pieces together.

Finn Collins, AKA: cheater extraordinaire. Finn Collins, the asshole who made your girlfriend feel stupid by turning her into the other woman without knowing about it. Finn Collins, who made Clarke the other woman to Raven Reyes their very first semester of university. It still amazes you that the two girls broke up with Finn together and managed to ignore their abysmal starting circumstances and become best friends. That takes more internal strength than you think you have.

But now Finn has reached your table and his eyes are fixed on your girlfriend. “Clarke,” he greets, slimy sounding already and totally ignoring you. An unpleasant feeling grows in your stomach. You make a move to slide off the bench, but Clarke shakes her head minutely, silently requesting that you stay put for now.

“Go back to your date, Finn,” she tells him through gritted teeth. You’d forgotten about the other girl. You shoot a glance at her, and she’s watching the scene play out, looking confused and a bit hurt.

“Long time,” Finn continues, disregarding Clarke’s words. “I’ve missed you.”

“Well, I didn’t miss you,” Clarke glares.

Finn leans closer to your girlfriend, making her inch away. “Come on, Clarke. Don’t be like that.” He tries a smile you think is supposed to be charming, but it just makes your stomach churn even more. “We had a good thing, you and me.”

Clarke shakes her head. “It was never a good thing that we had,” she denies vehemently. “You lied to me and Raven for months. We had _nothing_.”

“Clarke, we can talk about this,” Finn coaxes.

“No, Finn. We can’t and we won’t.”

“Clarke –”

You take Finn’s continued pushiness as permission to make a move. “She said no. So back off,” you demand, placing yourself between the asshole and Clarke so he can’t see your girlfriend.

Finn sneers. “You should keep your guard bitch on a leash if she bites, Clarke,” he taunts, trying to force his way around you to get to the nurse.

You shove him back in place. He tries to shoulder you out of the way, grabbing your arm and his fingers biting into your skin hard enough to probably bruise. So you punch him in the face.

Finn staggers back, startled. Clarke is now standing behind you. Her hand rests against your back, and you know she wants to get involved somehow – stop this before it escalates too far. You put an arm out to keep her from trying to get in front of you and closer to Finn. You don’t like the look in his eyes and you focus back on him as he straightens.

“You mean girlfriend,” you snarl the correction.

“You’re dating this bitch, Clarke?” Finn asks, disbelieving. “When did you turn dyke?”

That.

Is.

It.

Nobody can use those words against Clarke and not experience consequences. You punch Finn again. And again. Once to the side and once to the stomach. He swings wildly a few times and manages to connect once, but you barely feel it. You land a kick to his chest, and Finn goes down. You lean over him threateningly. “Clarke had better never hear from you again,” you warn. “Her best friend is a detective, I’m a lawyer, and _my_ best friend? She’s the kind of person who would know how to make a body disappear.” You let that sink in for a moment. “Am I clear?” Finn nods frantically.

Clarke hastily pulls some money out of her purse and hands it over to the still stunned waitress who hasn’t moved a muscle. “For any damage we may have caused,” she explains when the girl takes the cash. “Please apologize to the owner for the disturbance.” She turns to Finn’s date. “You can do better,” Clarke tells her. “I don’t want to see or hear from you ever,” is the declaration Finn gets. “Lex, we need to go. Come on.” She grabs your arm and drags you up and away from her ex-boyfriend.

She’s silent as she tows you to the car, pulling open the passenger door and pointing for you to get in. Clarke moves behind the wheel and drives the two of you to the home you’ve shared for six months.

“Clarke –” you try on the way.

“Just don’t, Lexa,” your girlfriend interrupts you. “Wait until we get home.” You drive the rest of the way in silence.

When you finally get into the apartment, Clarke directs you to sit on the couch while she goes into the bathroom. “Don’t move,” she orders from out of sight. Bewildered by her apparent hostility, you obey nonetheless.

Bodey is trying to say hello, but you tell him to go lay down until you can figure things out with Clarke. Sulking, he obeys the command. Great. Now you’ve pissed off both of them.

Clarke returns a few minutes later, her self-assembled first aid kit (all the store bought ones are insufficient, apparently) in hand. It shouldn’t have taken her that long to grab, but you don’t ask what Clarke spent the extra time occupying herself with. You have a sinking feeling you already know.

The nurse kneels on the floor in front of you and pulls out some antiseptic wound sealant and begins to paint it over a cut above your brow you didn’t even realize was there. The sting makes you flinch. “Hold still,” Clarke murmurs.

Her somewhat softer tone encourages you to try talking to her again. “Clarke –”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Clarke interrupts you once more, still dabbing the brush over your cut.

“He was harassing you,” you remind her. “ _He’s_ the one who cheated on you. He touched me first, _and_ he insulted both of us.”

Clarke just shakes her head. “You still shouldn’t have.” Despite her lingering cold exterior, your girlfriend’s hands are gentle as she finishes with your head and moves to your split knuckles.

“What’s really got you upset?” you finally ask. “Because it’s not the fact that I fought with fuckboy Finn.” She doesn’t answer at first, merely concentrating harder on your hand. “Clarke,” you prod.

“You are _bleeding_ , Lexa!” Clarke explodes. She holds up the rag she’s been cleaning you up with so that you can see the faint red splotches marring the cloth. “Do you see this? You got hurt!”

“He landed one hit by pure luck,” you dismiss. “I didn’t even feel it.”

“You don’t get it,” Clarke hisses. “What if someone had called the police before I could get you out of there? What if Finn presses charges or had hit you harder? You could have ended up in jail or hurt worse. Because of _me_. I _never_ want you hurt because of me.” She begins tending your knuckles once more, but her hands are shaking.

Now you understand. You stop Clarke’s increasingly jerky ministrations and tilt her chin so she looks you in the eyes. “Don’t ever think that I won’t protect you,” you promise, running one hand through her hair. “I will always fight for you.”

Clarke sighs, burying her head in your lap. Your hand continues to sift through her blond locks soothingly. “I’m sorry my ex ruined our first anniversary,” her apology is muffled.

That makes you chuckle. “I’ve never had to beat off a girlfriend’s former flame before,” you admit. “And while I would rather not repeat it, it was an interesting experience and I’m not entirely dissatisfied with the outcome.”

Your girlfriend laughs, shaking her head at your cheek before leaving the floor to join you on the couch. Bodey takes that as permission for him to jump up as well, and he proceeds to cover you both in slobbery kisses, making you and Clarke groan in disgust. When he’s done saying hello, he settles down by the opposite arm of the couch with a content sigh.

“Finn can only ruin our night if we let him,” you remind Clarke. “Just because we didn’t eat a fancy dinner doesn’t mean the whole night is a failure. I’ve always been more of an order in girl anyway. Although, I will eat out nightly with great enthusiasm.”

The scandalized glare Clarke gives you makes you laugh harder than you have in a long time.

* * *

You end up having pizza delivered and watching that space show that Clarke loves, _The Cosmos,_ on Netflix as your one year anniversary celebration, and it’s a little bit perfect.

“Night, Rocky,” Clarke mumbles into your back later, and you fall asleep with a smile on your face.

You’re glad you didn’t take the ring with you. There will be better times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the prompts I have received in the last week! I greatly appreciate all of them and will do my best to do them justice. I am now back home in Chicago, but school is starting back up again next week. I'm going to try to have one more chapter out before then.


	17. Here In The Moon Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa has some promises to make to Tris.
> 
> Or
> 
> Clarke can't sleep without Lexa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to hedahearteyes for her prompt, it was a great one! I had fun with it. School starts again on Tuesday, so updates are going to slow down. But I think I spoiled you guys right? Five chapters in four weeks? Anyways, enjoy the fluff!

_July 15, 2020_

The sound of an infant wailing wakes you at 2:44 in the morning, making you groan. Lexa also whines a bit from where she lays next to you. You take a moment to hope futilely that Tris will go back to sleep, but you know it’s time to feed her. She’s just over six weeks old and seems to eat almost constantly.

Feeding Tris makes you feel such a strong connection with your daughter, and every time it seems like you adore her even more. But you’ve only been out of the hospital for a month, and it _still_ feels like you need to sleep fourteen hours a day as you continue to recover. Having a baby is not conducive to that need.

You’re amping yourself up to roll out of bed when you feel Lexa sit up. She presses a kiss to your temple, murmuring, “I’ll get her. We still have that bottle you pumped last night, right?”

“Yeah,” you hum tiredly. “Have I told you how much I love you recently?”

Lexa laughs quietly. “Go back to sleep. You’re still healing.” She gets out of your bed and tiptoes from the room.

Your wife has been walking like she’s on thin ice ever since you got home from the hospital. Sometimes you turn and catch her watching you like she expects you to shatter. You know what happened to you terrified Lexa, but her worrying makes you anxious, and you can only hope that time will help her as much as it has you.

You expected Lexa to be back within half an hour. Tris can chug a bottle in five minutes or less, and burping her only takes another few minutes. The hardest part is getting her to go back to sleep because she’s already a very curious kid and has discovered her fingers and that they can move. So she usually spends ten or fifteen minutes staring at them before she can be lulled into sleep. But forty-five minutes pass and the sheets beside you remain cold. You’re grateful to Lexa for letting you stay in bed and you _are_ exhausted, but you find yourself unable to sleep without your wife. When she still isn’t back ten minutes later, you get up to go look for her.

The sound of quiet humming reaches your ears as you make your way down the hall. As you approach Tris’ open door, the lullaby ends and Lexa begins talking.

“You know, I took your Mommy dancing for our second date,” your wife murmurs as she sways Tris gently in her arms. “She showed me up. Turns out art isn’t her only creative talent.”

You lean against the door frame, smiling as you recall the date Lexa is speaking of. You had texted Lexa the afternoon after your first date, eager to see her again. Lexa had suggested the dancing, asking if you had ever been. Not for a date, you’d told her, but you’ve danced. You had lessons in multiple styles as a kid, but it had been years.

So you two had gone dancing. And it had been so much _fun_. Lexa was right in what she told Tris – you were the more skilled dancer – but Lexa was by no means bad, and she sure showed you a mean tango, claiming she’d had to learn it for a wedding once. Some friend had a themed wedding, Lexa had explained, rolling her eyes. She had insisted it was torture to get through the ceremony and reception, but she still knew the entire choreography, so you called bullshit. Lexa hadn’t been able to deny it.

You don’t remember a date before that one that was more enjoyable. Lexa had found a studio that rented out rooms, so you hadn’t even had to worry about being in front of an audience. You’d spent the entire evening in the studio, trying out different styles and laughing for hours. And that isn’t even your best date with Lexa. They’ve only gotten better with time, even now that you’ve been married for over three years.

Lexa speaking again draws you out of your memories. “I’ll show you how to dance,” she promises Tris. “When you get older. We can surprise Mommy. Then she’ll teach you how to be even better.” She continues cooing to your daughter, pulling a smile from you and making you fall in love with her just that little bit more.

Eventually, the quiet talking devolves back into hums, and you take the opportunity to enter the bedroom and walk up behind the pair. Tris is fast asleep – you are sure Lexa’s soothing voice put her to sleep ages ago. It has done so to you more than once.

“Careful, pretty girl,” you whisper over Lexa’s shoulder. “You’re going to overwhelm her with all of your knowledge before she learns to walk.”

Your wife gives you a reproachful look. “You are supposed to be sleeping.”

You shrug. “I missed you,” is your simple reply. “What were you humming?”

“An old lullaby my mother used to sing to me when I was sick. It always made me feel better.”

“I like it. Tris does too, apparently.”

Lexa smiles down at your daughter. “She fell asleep right after I started humming it.”

“Well, if you don’t put her to bed, _we_ won’t get to sleep any more before she wakes up again,” you point out.

“You were supposed to be sleeping this whole time,” Lexa reprimands you. “You’re –”

“– almost fully recovered,” you interrupt her. “It’s been six weeks, Lex. The doctor cleared me for all activity except sex, which we’re barely beyond the suggested wait time for anyways even if nothing had gone wrong.”

Lexa sighs, allowing you to take Tris from her arms and settle her into her crib. You tuck her blanket in around her before Lexa takes your hand and gently pulls you after her and back to your bedroom. “I’m just scared,” your wife admits, leading you to sit on the bed with her. “I don’t want to do something wrong and hurt you.”

“So trust me to know what I can handle,” you plead. “I _do_ know how hard it was for you. Anya and Wells told me everything about that day.” Lexa shudders, and you inch over to wrap your arms around her. She buries her face in your shoulder, and you bring a hand up to run through her wild hair. “I'm okay, Lexa,” you soothe her.

“I know that you’re okay, in theory. I just can’t convince myself.”

You smile. “If I feel like something isn’t right, I promise I’ll tell you. But until then, please stop walking on eggshells around me. I need to be able to do work around the house, hold Tris, or hold _you_ without you looking at me like I’m going to break. That’s part of the healing process for both of us.”

Lexa nods reluctantly. “I can try.”

“That’s all I ask, babe.” You hold her for a few more minutes before Lexa maneuvers you to lay down with her. Laying on your stomach still feels weird after all those months of being huge, so you curl up next to Lexa on your side, getting as close as possible. “You know I love you, right? So much.”

Lexa snorts. “If you didn’t by now I’d be kind of worried, given that we have a newborn to raise,” she teases.

You nudge her. “I just want to make sure you know that I would never willingly leave you.”

Your wife pulls you closer. “I know. You’ve proven that more than once, and I’m so grateful for that. Just try not to scare me to death for at least a year?” she requests.

You laugh. “Deal.”

Lexa tilts your chin up to kiss you, and with her warmth beside you, you are finally able to fall back asleep.

* * *

Tris wakes up half an hour later.

This time you both whine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always I welcome any prompts you might have! You can leave them here or message me at 'fairytaleslayer' on Tumblr. I love talking to you guys!


	18. Your Gravity Reaches such a Long Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke is woken for night time shenanigans
> 
> Or
> 
> Lexa is a messy sleeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came from me crawling through the depths of Tumblr prompts and stumbling upon a list of cuddling prompts. I then wrote this to see how many of those I could use in one chapter. Turns out the answer is four. This is utterly ridiculous and has no meaning, but I thought that might be nice after a few kind of heavy chapters.

_August 5, 2016_

“Move. My arm is falling asleep,” the grouchy voice pulls you from your sleep.

“Lexa?” you mumble back, not moving an inch. You don’t think you _can_ move, you’re so tired. “What?”

A hand lightly pushes at your back. “I said move. I can’t feel my arm.”

You finally notice the hard ridge below your ribs that does not belong there. Somehow, Lexa’s arm migrated from under your neck to below your torso, and it definitely does not feel good. You groan. “Maybe if you didn’t take up the whole bed, that wouldn’t be a problem,” you snark back.

“Clarke, move,” Lexa whines, tugging at her arm futilely.

“Do it yourself,” you reply, closing your eyes again. “I’m not going anywhere.”

A hard shove rolls you out of bed and you yelp as you fall to the floor in an ungainly whirlwind of sheets and limbs. You sit up and shoot a glare at your fiancée, who only gives you a smug look as she rubs circulation back into her hand. “Was that necessary?” you complain.

“You said do it myself,” Lexa just smirks.

Your eyes narrow. This means war. You haul yourself back onto the bed and throw yourself onto Lexa, forcing her backwards onto the mattress. Your fingers quickly find the one spot on her ribs where Lexa is ticklish, and you attack. Lexa gasps, and then uncontrollable giggles spill out as you continue your assault. You, on the other hand, have been blessed with tickle-free skin, so Lexa can’t even fight back. Tickling is the only way to pull that high pitched squeal slash laugh out of your fiancée, and it’s one of your favorite sounds, so you do it to her as often as you can get away with it.

“Give up, love?” you ask after a minute or so when Lexa is breathless.

“Never. Love is weakness,” Lexa snarls playfully. Suddenly, you find yourself being flipped over so that Lexa is now on top of you, your back to the mattress. You try to defend yourself by going for Lexa’s ribs again, but the brunette grabs your hands and pins them to the blankets as well. “Looks like I win.”

You squirm underneath her, trying to get away. “None of this is my fault,” you grumble. “I was just sleeping peacefully, and then I’m being pushed and shoved out of bed and imprisoned by an asshole. Why am I marrying you in January?”

“Because I’m pretty,” Lexa claims with a grin. “Now go to sleep.” She promptly collapses into your chest.

All the air is forced from your lungs in a rush. “L-Lexa,” you grunt with effort. “Get off of me.”

“No.”

“Lexa, I can’t breathe.”

Lexa just shakes her head. “I’m cuddling.”

“Can’t you cuddle with less violence?” you whine.

“Takes all the fun out of it.”

The little shit. Lexa shifts just enough to free up some breathing room for you, leaving you trapped beneath her. She then appears to quickly fall asleep, and you’re alone and still caged by her body. You sigh in annoyance. You’ll have to wait until she’s a little more deeply asleep before you try to move her off, otherwise she’ll do it again just to spite you.

Twenty minutes later, a twinge in your bladder tells you to visit the bathroom. You slowly take Lexa’s hands, move them to one side, and prepare to slide out from under Lexa. Your fiancée groans and frees them to wrap even more tightly around your waist. That just puts extra pressure on your abdomen, and you really do need to get up soon.

“Lexa,” you huff. “Lexa, wake up. I have to pee.”

“Noooooo,” Lexa mumbles sleepily. “I _just_ got comfortable.”

“Well, _I’m_ not comfortable,” you mention. “So I would like to get out of here for a minute, okay?”

Lexa shakes her head emphatically. “No. Fight me.”

You sigh. “That doesn’t work on me anymore, no matter how cute I think it is,” you remind her. “Get off.”

Lexa tightens her grip more.

“Lexa Woods I will wet this bed,” you threaten. “Don’t think I won’t do it.”

The arms around your waist disappear immediately, Lexa wriggling away to give you even more room. “Please don’t,” she requests. “Bodey doing it once was bad enough.”

“You’re the one that wanted a dog,” you remind her.

“And need I remind you that you are not the dog and _do_ know how to use a toilet,” Lexa says mildly.

You smile. This is one of the more ridiculous nights the two of you have had in a while. “Thanks, but I hadn’t forgotten.” You disappear into the bathroom for a few minutes, and when you come out, Lexa has rolled onto your side of the bed with her face buried in your pillow.

Shaking your head in exasperation (She’s not adorable at all), you get back into bed and twist into place, laying claim once more to your side. “Hey. Move,” you tease.

“No,” Lexa mumbles. “You come here.”

That’s a compromise you’re willing to make, especially if it means you’ll finally get to go back to sleep sometime soon. You curl up and nuzzle into Lexa’s chest, comfortable at last. Lexa wraps an arm around to keep you in place, but this time you’re not arguing. You close your eyes, ready for sleep.

…

And of course you can’t. To your credit, you try _really_ hard to keep still so as not to disturb Lexa and force yourself into slumber, but it’s just not happening. You fidget. You try to stop thinking about sleep and quiet your mind. You focus on Lexa’s even breathing and try to emulate her. Nothing works.

Eventually, Lexa sighs tiredly and opens her eyes. You look at her guiltily. “What now?” your fiancée grumbles.

“I can’t sleep.” That was absolutely not a whine coming from your mouth.

“Clarke.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I really tried not to wake you,” you rush to explain.

Lexa shifts so she’s hovering over you. “Guess I’ll just have to tire you out, then.”

“What do you me- Oh,” you realize as Lexa’s hand works its way under the waistband of your sweats. “Oh – okay – yeah. Yeah, we could –”

“Clarke, shut up and let me help.” Lexa is exasperated even as she smiles fondly down at you.

You gasp as her fingers unexpectedly begin moving over sensitive, nerve-filled skin that always seems to be ready for her, even when sex is the furthest thing from your mind. Lexa’s not trying to draw this out – she has a goal and she will accomplish it. With Lexa knowing every spot on your body that drives you mad, it doesn’t take long before you’re moaning out a soft release. Lexa kisses you as your breathing goes back to normal.

“Better?” she asks when you can dredge your eyes open again.

“Yeah,” you yawn. “I love you.”

Lexa chuckles. “I love you, too, but I’ll love you more if you let me go to sleep now.” She moves to your side and gathers you into her arms.

You push your nose into her shoulder, your eyes already slipping closed in exhaustion. “Still your fault,” you remind her sleepily. “You started the cuddle war.”

The last thing you feel is Lexa pressing a kiss to your temple. “Well then, we’ll assess the damage in the morning and I’ll pay my dues,” she promises.

You breathe out an amused sigh before falling asleep.

* * *

The two of you wake up so late in the morning it can barely be called such. Glad that neither of you have work so you could sleep in after all your late night activities, you and Lexa find that the only casualty of your cuddle war was Lexa’s pillow. You deem that punishment enough and instead repay Lexa for her help getting you to sleep.

Sometimes it’s fun to act like you’re not responsible adults with careers and a wedding to plan and decide to not leave bed all day and argue about the best cuddling positions instead.


	19. It was a Good Day for Kiss-Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa is too afraid to call the cute nurse
> 
> Or
> 
> Clarke is nearly left hanging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Redgirl-27 has been waiting patiently for SUCH a long time for me to get my act together and finally write Clarke and Lexa’s first date. It just took me forever to figure out how I wanted it to go. I hope you enjoy it.

_July 2, 2014_

It’s a week before Lexa calls you. A week of you doubting yourself, yelling at yourself for breaking hospital rules and just being ignored for it. You shouldn’t have given her your number. You should have waited until she was released, when it would have been allowable. What if Lexa freaked out and reported you? You could lose your job if she did.

Raven and Octavia quickly get annoyed with your worries and urge you to forget her. If Lexa doesn’t want anything to do with you, then you shouldn’t be focusing on her. They try to take you out and set you up with other people, but it doesn’t really work when you are whipping out your phone at the slightest hint of a vibration. Every time an unknown caller turns out to not be Lexa, you deflate a little bit more.

Seven days later, you’ve given up hope of ever seeing the cute girl from Room 530 again. You had another overnight shift last night, and you’re napping when your phone rings at one in the afternoon. You don’t check the ID, but you figure it’s one of your friends. “What?” you grumble sleepily.

“Um,” a light, hesitant voice you only vaguely recognize comes over the line. “Is this Clarke Griffin?”

You shake yourself awake hurriedly. “Yes, sorry. This is Clarke,” you answer more formally.

“Oh, good,” the woman sounds relieved. “I thought maybe I was given a fake number.”

“May I ask who is calling?”

“Right. Sorry. This is Lexa Woods. You wrote your phone number down on a cup of hot chocolate last week at the hospital?” the woman – Lexa – says it in a way that sounds like a question.

Excitement surges through you. Lexa called you. Sure, she took her fucking time but you don’t even care anymore. “Yes, yes, I did. Hi! I’m so glad you called,” you enthuse. “I didn’t think you would. I thought maybe I was too forward.”

Lexa laughs a bit. It’s a breathy kind of chuckle that you really wouldn’t mind hearing for the rest of your life. “I was spending my remaining imprisonment trying to remember what I possibly said from a hospital bed that was endearing enough for you to want to maybe go on a date. I was released a few days ago, and I spent the rest of the time trying to work up the courage to call,” she admitted. “My friend got fed up, stole my phone and hit send, and by then it was too late to hang up, so here I am.”

You’re trying so hard not to grin like an idiot – even though no one else is here – because god damn, Lexa is even more adorable sounding when she’s healthy. “It involved a lot of threats, I’m afraid,” you inform her.

“I remember that part,” Lexa replies sheepishly. “I’m sorry for anything inappropriate.”

“No, no!” you rush to reassure her. “I thought it was cute. _You_ were cute.”

Lexa clears her throat, and you just _know_ she’s blushing. “Thanks. Since you left it kind of open-ended and I kind of want to know what kind of person finds threats of violence _cute_ , I was wondering if I could maybe take you out for coffee sometime. This Friday?” she suggests.

Friday. Friday. What time do you work Friday? “I’d love to, but I need to check my shift time first. Give me just a second?”

“Of course.” Lexa sounds nervous, and you desperately hope you don’t work Friday.

The gods are really on your side today. “Friday would be perfect,” you accept happily. “I don’t have to work.”

“Okay, cool. Um, I’ll text you the address?”

“Great. I’ll see you then, Lexa. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too, Clarke.”

After Lexa hangs up, you may or may not squeal in excitement in the privacy of your own bedroom. You don’t know why you’re so worked up over this girl you’ve barely met, but you are not going to deny the strange connection you felt and you want to explore it. You think it means good things.

As soon as you are somewhat calm again, you call Octavia.

“What up, Queen C?” your friend breezes through.

“Hey O, where are you?”

You hear the slam of a car door. “Just got done at the gym with Lincoln. You need something?”

“Lexa called me.”

There’s a moment of silence. “About fucking time!” Octavia yells. “Did she say why she sat on her ass all week?”

“She told me she was too nervous to call. Her friend did it for her.” You smile softly at the slightly exasperated tone in Lexa’s voice that spoke of the same suffering you often felt around Raven and Octavia. The feeling that you knew they loved you and meant well, but they interfered with your life far more than was good for you. And you loved them anyways.

“Maybe you should go out with the friend, then,” Octavia mutters, but you know she’s happy for you. “What’d you two decide?”

“We’re meeting for coffee on Friday. She’s going to text me the place.” Speak of the devil, your phone dings with an incoming text. “Hold on, O. I think that’s it.” You check, and sure enough, there’s a text from an unknown number with the name Polis Grind, an address, and ‘Two o’clock?’ written at the bottom. You type back a quick affirmative and save the number under Lexa’s name. “Okay, I’m back. She said some place called Polis Grind. Ever heard of it?”

“Yeah, Lincoln loves that place,” Octavia replies. “He introduced it to me, it’s pretty good. Nice place. Not a good spot for ritualistic murder. I approve of this Lexa so far.”

You laugh. Octavia talks with you for a few more minutes before she has to drive home. When you hang up, your mind goes back to your call with Lexa. She had been adorable. And funny. And her voice was _amazing_. The way she said your name. Ugh.

Friday cannot come soon enough.

* * *

_July 5, 2014_

Three days is a ridiculously long time to meet for this date. You should have suggested sooner, but you figure Lexa had work – whatever she does for a living – and so you impatiently wait for Friday to roll around. When it finally does, you’re a ball of nerves by the time you park your car.

The smell of coffee is a heavenly greeting as you walk through the doors of Polis Grind.

The sight of a snobby looking man wearing a suit and at _least_ in his mid-thirties sitting next to an obviously uncomfortable Lexa, however, is not. You frown, watching as this jerk keeps talking away in the seat that is supposed to be yours, leaning into Lexa’s personal space and not noticing just how uneasy Lexa is. Either that or he doesn’t care. She doesn’t even look at him, staring into her coffee cup and not saying anything.

You march right on up and pull the back of the seat enough so that man is looking at you instead. Lexa immediately relaxes as soon as the man’s attention is off her.

“What do you think you’re –” the guy begins indignantly, but you interrupt him.

“Listen, buddy. If you were paying the slightest bit of attention, you would have noticed that you _clearly_ aren’t welcome. Now, how about you kindly get out of my seat, shove off, and leave my girlfriend alone.” Your tone brooks no argument.

The man slinks away with a parting glare for you that you ignore. You switch chairs with another table and sit down in the new one. You don’t want to feel any of his remaining body heat coming from the other chair. Lexa breathes out a sigh of relief once you’re the one sitting next to her.

She laces her fingers with the hand resting on your leg, squeezing it thankfully. But she’s got a mischievous look in her eye. “Girlfriend, huh?” she teases.

You can only shrug. “You asked me on a date. I find you wildly attractive – so I jumped the gun a few hours. Am I entirely off base?” you goad.

Lexa smiles. “Let’s just see how this date goes. Then I’ll let you know.”

* * *

Somehow, once you both have coffee in hand, and you've gotten some necessary greetings and explanations out of the way, you trip onto the topic of books. You think the two of you had first been discussing women you admire. You’d mentioned Emma Watson, Lexa brought up Harry Potter, and you were off to the races. Now, you are having a full on debate about various novels – from young adult fiction to the classics – and what their redeeming qualities are.

Turns out the two of you do not see eye to eye on any popular fiction you both have read. Lexa mentions she doesn’t like how _The Hunger Games_ trilogy ended. “I don’t know,” you reply. “I thought it was sweet how she chose Peeta. Someone who gives her hope for life.”

Lexa wrinkles her nose. “He was a boring, one dimensional character compared to Katniss,” she argues. “She had much more interesting relationship with Johanna in the books. Much better chemistry. But I never got the relationship vibe off her anyways. I think it would have been better to leave her on her own at the end. That would have been more realistic and true to her mindset.”

“I see your point,” you relent. “But I still stand by Peeta.”

“Fine. You’re wrong, but fine.”

“Hey!” You smack Lexa’s arm gently, but she just grins.

You keep going back and forth, enjoying the friendly argument. Lexa for some reason thinks Hermione and Ron are good for each other while you are convinced Ron is an ass and a relationship between them would never work long term. Other books are debated. You at least both agree that the sparkly vampire books are trash to be burned.

It turns out that while you may disagree on popular fiction, you and Lexa have the _exact_ same opinions about some of the so-called classics. “I mean, Scarlett O’Hara is a class A bitch,” Lexa says vehemently when you discuss _Gone with the Wind_. “And she never even tries to learn from her mistakes. She loses the one person who genuinely cares for her because of her own shitty decisions, and she thinks _she’s_ the slighted one.”

You kind of lose track of the conversation as you watch Lexa’s face. Even though you’ve been talking about books written a century or more ago, you can tell that Lexa is so passionate as she rants about _Wuthering Heights_ and _Anna Karenina_ next and how a novel glorifying being unfaithful to a person’s spouse – as those two do – should never be considered classic literature and they are an insult to human intelligence to be seen as such.

“ – and you’re not even listening to me,” Lexa trailing off brings your attention back to her eyes from where you were staring at her lips.

You blush. “I’m sorry,” you apologize sincerely.

“Are you okay? Are you bored?”

“No! No, of course not!” You try to think of a way to explain without sounding creepy that you had been so entranced by Lexa’s face that you’d forgotten what you had been talking about. It’s not your fault, though. “You’re just really, really pretty and I noticed it at the hospital but you are _so_ much prettier when you’re healthy and you are practically glowing in the sunlight right now and I just really want to draw you. Not now – I don’t have anything with me – but sometime.”

Lexa blushes at your compliments, biting her lip. You can’t help but think how you would like to do it for her.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize instead. “That was really presumptuous of me.”

The brunette shakes her head, her wavy hair covering her face for a brief instant, and you itch to push it behind her ear. You hold yourself back. “Don’t be. It was sweet. You’re an artist?” she asks shyly.

You nod. “Sometimes. When I was a teenager, I wanted to be an artist until I realized the likelihood of me being paid enough to live off of was slim to none. I’m kind of glad I didn’t go that way. You lose the joy of doing something when it becomes a job instead of a hobby. I still draw and paint for fun, though. I like to think I’m rather good.”

“I have no doubt you are, Clarke,” Lexa assures you quietly. “And I’d be happy to let you draw me sometime.”

It’s your turn to blush, and you look down. You catch sight of the time on your phone and curse. Lexa gives you a concerned look, but you smile at her. “Sorry, I would _really_ love to stay here and keep this date going, but I promised my friends I’d be home by six-thirty and give them the full report and I’m already going to be late.”

Lexa nods understandingly, although she looks slightly disappointed. You feel the same way. “Anya will not want to talk about my date, but she will be at my apartment by now, sitting on my couch, eating my food, and waiting to tease me endlessly,” she agrees with you.

“I know exactly how you feel. I think our friends would get along,” you laugh as you open the door to the café for her. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Thanks, but I only live a mile away. I walked here,” Lexa declines.

You stare at her. She walked here in all the summer humidity New York City has to offer? “Well, you are not walking home,” you decide. “I’ll drive you.”

“I don’t want to put you out of your way,” Lexa tries to get out of it. “You’re already going to be late with your friends.”

“They can wait a few more minutes while I make sure you get home safe,” you dismiss. “If you get murdered on your way home, I won’t even have a drawing of your face to remember you by,” you say tragically.

Lexa snorts out a laugh. “You are ridiculous. And thank you.”

You open the car door for her with a flourish. “After you.” The brunette slides into the front seat, and you close the door behind her and move around to the other side.

The drive to Lexa’s apartment is fairly quiet – the comfortable silence punctuated only by Lexa’s occasional instructions on where to turn. You can tell Lexa is thinking deeply about something, so you let her do it in peace.

When you pull into the complex’s parking lot, you get out too. “Thank you for driving me,” Lexa says once again. “I think – would you want to – maybe – go out with me again?”

You smile when you realize that this is what Lexa must have been thinking so hard about. She was nervous to ask you out. “I’d love to,” you reassure her. “My turn to plan it, though. I’ll call you?”

Lexa nods happily. “Would it be too forward of me if I kissed you after the first date?” she asks.

You melt a little bit inside at Lexa requesting permission. “Probably.” Lexa deflates, but you are not done. “You should do it anyway.”

Lexa’s head shoots back up and she stares at you intensely. She steps forward and you find yourself moving backward until your way is impeded by your ass hitting your car. Lexa steps right into your personal space – you take a second to be glad she only seems to have issues with being close to people when they are unwanted company, not all the time. You are quickly distracted from that thought when Lexa presses soft lips gently to yours.

You lean into the kiss, eyes falling shut in bliss. This, you decide, this is what you could actually do forever. You’d thought it was listening to Lexa’s laugh, or looking at her, but it’s definitely kissing her. You should have just started with this.

Lexa does not move to escalate the kiss, keeping it chaste and gentle, her nose bumping into yours slightly. She breaks it eventually and leans her forehead against yours as the both of you catch your breath.

“I’ll call you,” you finally whisper.

Lexa nods and steps back, freeing you from the side of your car. “I look forward to it,” she replies with a hint of a smile.

You have to kiss it off her lips before you can leave her.


	20. Your Economy of Blessings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tris is going to give Lexa a run for her money
> 
> Or
> 
> Lexa can't win an argument

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have chuckleshan to thank for the existence of this chapter, and most likely the next one as well. Especially since I was thinking about ending it at twenty chapters. I was feeling a bit overwhelmed with everything going on - I got invited for my first medical school interview - 'Yay!' - but so stressful along with grad school so I almost just stopped. So thank them!

_July 18, 2026_

You already know that Tris is basically Lexa’s miniature, but it is made very clear to you when you come across her practicing an argument in front of her mirror on why baths are ‘evil’ and she shouldn’t have to take one. You watch through a crack in the door as Tris lays out her evidence with _very_ emphatic hand gestures – they include that the plug for the drain is untrustworthy because it came loose sometimes and the water would leak out before she was ready, and the water wouldn’t stay hot and she would get goosebumps, and also it is too hard to get the shampoo out of her hair before it stings her eyes. Aiden is Tris’ audience, watching from the bed that they share – despite having their own bedrooms – with all the admiration an almost five year old could muster and applauding when she finishes with a flourish.

The entire rehearsal is spent with you covering your mouth so you don’t tip them off to your laughter. You consider telling Lexa about Tris’ plan, but you want to see the look on your wife’s face when Tris pulls this on her. Lexa is usually in charge of bath time. You certainly help, but you each have times that are for bonding with the kids. You are in charge of picking up from school – or Octavia and Lincoln’s – and bedtime stories. Lexa makes breakfast for the kids and helps them with their baths. Evenings are for all of you as a family.

You silently creep away from the bedroom door before the kids catch you eavesdropping. You can’t wait to see how Lexa responds to Tris’ latest antics. She is certainly Lexa’s flesh and blood.

It’s another couple weeks before Tris presents her case against baths. She recites it perfectly – never even stumbles over a word – and all Lexa can do is stare at her child who is stubbornly refusing to get into the water, arms crossed and glaring at her mother.

“I’m not doing it, Mama,” Tris insists.

Lexa gives you a helpless look, but you just shake your head as you continue filming the entire debacle, trying desperately not to laugh. “Don’t look at me. _You’re_ the lawyer. Arguing is basically your job, so you’re on your own with this one.”

Your wife turns back to her tiny daughter, brow furrowed and obviously trying to come up with a peaceful solution to the war against cleanliness. “You can’t just not bathe, Tris,” she attempts to reason with her. “If you’re not clean, then you might get sick. And if you get sick, you might get other people – like Aiden – sick too.” Tris and Aiden are incredibly close, and you’re impressed that Lexa is trying to guilt trip her daughter into taking a bath by using her brother against her.

Tris falters for the first time, looking unsure before she hardens her resolve. “No baths, Mama,” she repeats.

Lexa sighs and rolls her eyes toward the ceiling, seemingly looking for strength. Or maybe patience. Probably both. You’re not sure.

“What about a shower, Tris?” is her counteroffer.

Tris perks up at this. “Like Mommies?”

“Yeah, Tris, like Mommies do,” Lexa jumps on the opening, encouraging her daughter. “If you show me that you can take a shower without making a mess or falling down and hurting yourself, you don’t have to take baths anymore. But you have to shower _every_ night, just like bath time,” she warns. “And you have to do it yourself. Mama isn’t going to be in the shower with you.”

Your kid nods eagerly, wanting to prove that she can be grown up like her moms. The first shower takes a bit of work, with Tris squealing when she turns the dial too far and scalds herself a bit, but she figures it out. Aiden takes a bath afterward without complaint, and peace is restored in your household.

Later that night, when the kids are in bed and you and Lexa are relaxing against the couch, your wife side-eyes you. “You knew, didn’t you?” she accuses. “That’s why you were filming.”

You can’t help grinning. “I found her practicing in front of her mirror a couple weeks ago. It was adorable – more hand motions than she ended up using.”

Lexa shakes her head. “She’s going to be a scary teenager.”

* * *

_February 17, 2038_

You had sent the video of Lexa and Tris’ debate to your mom and all of your friends. Raven and Anya never let Lexa forget that she lost an argument with her six year old.

There are many more such debates as Tris grows up. When she’s ten, she successfully argues that her bedtime should be moved back a half hour. Not all of them end up in victory – Lexa point blank refuses to allow Tris to a party that she knows will contain alcohol when she’s fourteen. You weren’t about to let her go to that either, but Lexa is the one that firmly ends the conversation. You both are sure you can trust your daughter to be smart, but things happen. Tris is upset with the two of you for a few days, but she knows you just want her safe and that it’s her drunken classmates you don’t trust.

Tris joins the debate team in high school, and she’s _good_ at it. She practices with Lexa at home, and you half expect her to follow in your wife’s footsteps and aim for law school when she gets to college. But she comes up to you hesitantly after career day at school when she’s seventeen and in her senior year, and tells you that she wants to join the police force.

“I know it’s dangerous, and I think maybe you and Mama expect me to be a lawyer and I like debating with people – I love my team and I think it’s really fun – but I don’t want to do it my entire life,” Tris rushes to get out like she thinks you’ll interrupt her or be disappointed.

Your heart hurts when you wonder if maybe you’ve been pressuring Tris without realizing it, and you pull your daughter into your arms. Tris wraps her own arms tightly around you, burying her face in your shoulder. “Pretty girl, we would never try to tell you what to do with your life,” you reassure her. “We just want you to be happy. Of course we’ll worry about you, but if being a cop is what you really want to do, we’ll support you no matter what.” You press a kiss to her temple, rubbing her back soothingly. “Your Mama and I are _so_ proud of you and Aiden, you know that, right? We could never be disappointed with you.”

Tris nods against your neck. “I still want to go to college. I don’t want to go straight in to the academy.”

“That’s great, honey. You don’t have to be scared to tell your mother, either. She’s not going to be mad at you for not wanting to do what she does,” you tell her. “I think maybe we thought you would, but we never expected you to. You understand?”

“Yeah.” Tris straightens and gives you a relieved smile. She gives you a kiss on the cheek and goes to find her other mom. “Since I’ve already had one big reveal, I guess now’s the time to tell you I’m dating a girl on my debate team?” she reveals cheekily. Then with that last bombshell, she’s gone.

You stand in the kitchen, mouth open and entirely flummoxed. “What?! Trisana Abigail, get back in here and tell me why this is the first I’m hearing about this! How long have you been hiding her? What’s her name? Do you like her? Does your mother know?” Tris’ laughter is the only reply you get.

This child is going to be the death of you.

* * *

Lexa, as you knew she would, reassures your daughter that she never expected her to take after her and her career, and urges her to pursue whatever she wants. Tris does end up joining the police academy after college, and graduates top of her class. You and Lexa both worry about her, of course, but Lexa made sure that she had been in self-defense classes since she was seven, and Tris kept doing it throughout high school because she loved it.

You teach her a bunch of little tricks while she is still in college so she will be able to fix minor injuries herself if she can’t get to a hospital for help. Tris moves quickly through the ranks, and her past experience in debating leads to her becoming her team’s hostage negotiator when it’s required.

All that arguing lead to something good. Lexa still watches the numerous videos you took of them sometimes, shaking her head at how she lost arguments to her young daughter and amazed at how that little human being has come so far since then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like the ending is a bit clunky, but I couldn't figure it out so I'm going with it. My interview is on Thursday and I have it sandwiched between exams on the Monday before and after, so I'm in a tight spot right now. Might be a little while for the next.


	21. The Wishes I've Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke involves the kids in an art project
> 
> Or
> 
> Lexa's coming home to a surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, this story is nearing its conclusion. I'm aiming for 25 chapters, but we'll see how that goes. That being said, enjoy this one. Thanks to chuckleshan for talking it through with me!

_December 13, 2025_

Lexa may or may not kill you when she gets home tonight. You probably should have talked to her before you let the kids do this, but whatever. It’s your house too. “How’s it coming guys?” you ask.

“Good, Mommy!” Tris and Aiden chime back at the same time – perfectly in sync, as usual.

“You almost done and ready to show Mama?”

“Yes!” they say excitedly from each wall that they’re facing.

It is the middle of December, Christmas is coming up, and your children are extremely over-excited and energetic. You have the day off which means you are alone with them, and you would have bundled up your two lightning rods and sent them out to play in the snow and wear themselves out if it hadn’t been snowing so hard you couldn’t even see your back fence. You’re worried one of them would wiggle out of the yard and get themselves lost, so you kept them inside today. And keeping a five and four year old inside all day is a good way to go insane.

Which means you had to find _some_ kind of activity to keep them occupied. They already watched two Disney movies – Beauty and the Beast for Aiden, Mulan for Tris – and had lunch, and were just beginning to complain of boredom when you came up with your current idea.

You hate white walls. They’re sterile, and boring, and remind you too much of the hospital you work in and the one your dad died in. So, your bright idea was to let the kids loose on them with some paints. They had been all too happy to pull on their painting smocks while you laid a tarp on the hardwood floor of the spare room – the only room in your house that is not decorated and still its original stark white.

The kids have been happily painting for nearly two hours now, and you are amazed that they haven’t gotten bored yet. You don’t remember being this bouncy as a child, although your mother assures you that you were. Apparently all children are like that. Who knew?

Tris’ wall involves a lot of purple and blue swirls – you’re not sure there’s an actual design going on. Aiden is being a little more purposeful. He has painted blue as high as his little arms could reach, even using a step stool carefully so he could go higher, and now you think he’s painting sea creatures – not great ones, but you’ll never tell him that – over what appears to be water. His starfish turned out okay, a happy orange, his jellyfish need some work and his squid is downright terrifying.

“It’s inky, Mommy!” Aiden tells you proudly when you go to inspect the squid more closely.

“I see that, Aiden. Good job,” you praise him, and he glows. The squid is, in fact, spitting ink, although you’d thought maybe Aiden just messed up and painted over something with a big black splotch on your wall. Turns out it was on purpose. Oh, well. In for a penny, as they say.

“What are you painting, Tris?” you go over and ask her once Aiden has finished explaining his ocean scene to you.

Tris looks up at you with eyes so like Lexa’s you can never keep from smiling at her. “Fairy world, Mommy,” she says very seriously. Fairies have been at the top of Tris’ interest list for the last few months. Before that, it was dragons, and before that, horses. It changes week to week, and you and Lexa are hard-pressed to keep up. Aiden is a little more consistent with his love for any kind of toy he can build things with. He has quite the collection of Lego’s and other such tools for his imagination. He often builds the houses, mountains, or stables that Tris’ current creature of interest resides in.

“Fairies live in the tree house. Mommy, see?” Tris’ impatient voice draws you out of your thoughts.

“Yes, baby girl, I see. It’s a very nice tree house, I think the fairies will like it quite a lot.”

“Yes they will,” Tris tells you like there wasn’t even a question there.

“Do you think Mama will like what I painted guys?” you ask them.

Both of your kids look at the wall you worked on while they painted and study it very seriously. It’s something they get from Lexa – that singular attention to detail – and every time it comes out you can’t believe how similar they all are, despite only two of them being blood-related.

“Mama like stars,” Aiden comes up with.

“And trees,” is Tris’ contribution.

You’ve painted a forest scene, looking up at the sky as though the painter were lying on the ground. Between branches, the sky is a deep purple, almost dark enough to be black, and you have traced out all the constellations Lexa has ever shown you. They are in the completely wrong parts of the sky, you’re sure, and Lexa will probably roll her eyes and correct you when she sees it, but that’s half the fun.

You hear the front door open and bang shut a little. “Clarke? Guys, I’m home!” Right on cue.

“Mama!” both of your children shriek and run out of the room, dripping paint brushes, dirty smocks and all.

“Tris! Aiden! Brushes in the bucket!” you yell after them, trying to avoid paint speckles all across your house.

The kids sheepishly scoot back in, plunk the brushes in the water bucket, and sprint back to their mother. Each of them tries to talk at once, clamoring about colors and art projects and walls as you follow at a calmer pace.

“What’s this I hear about an art project?” Lexa asks you suspiciously as you kiss her hello.

You shrug innocently. “Munchkins couldn’t play outside today – I had to come up with _something_ for them to do.”

“Mama, Mama, come see!” Tris urges as Aiden grabs Lexa’s hand and tries to pull her toward the spare room. Lexa allows herself to be led, but stops stock still when she sees what you let the kids do to the bedroom.

You’re trying to sneak off and escape when Lexa’s voice halts you in your tracks. “Clarke Lewis Griffin, don’t even _think_ about running away,” your wife warns. You flinch and turn around, smiling brightly at Lexa, hoping to appease her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lexa rolls her eyes. “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. Clarke, you let the kids paint the walls!”

“They had a lot of fun today, Lex,” you point out. “Plus, you know I don't like bare walls – I thought – they could stand for some color.” You shrug helplessly.

Lexa softens the barest amount. She knows you hate the color white and why. “But – this house is completely un-marketable now, Clarke. How would we ever sell it?” At her words, you can’t help giggling a little. “What?”

“It’s nothing.” You shake your head. “But Lex. Babe. You know we’re never leaving this house, right, pretty girl? This is our home – where we’re raising our children. I never want to move.”

Your wife finally melts the rest of the way. “No, I don’t suppose we would,” she admits, smiling now. “So you kids better show me what you did,” she tells Tris and Aiden, who have been watching what could have been a fight and now sigh in relief, eager to show Mama their creations.

You watch fondly from the doorway as your perfect children joyfully explain their paintings to Lexa, who listens carefully to everything they have to say and asks very serious questions about how many fairies could live in one tree house and whether Aiden was sure his jellyfish were absolutely safe from the big scary squid. The toddlers lap up the attention. Lexa never fails to make them feel like the most important people in the world, and you never get tired of watching her with them.

After explanations are over, Lexa looks over at you with a devious smile, dunks her hand in red paint, and plasters it against your face before you even have a chance to react. You shriek in surprise and grab your paintbrush that is still sitting in the yellow can, and flick it all over her clothes, grateful this wasn’t court day and she’s not wearing her nice suit.

The kids laugh in delight and join in, and all of a sudden your family is in a full on paint war. A rainbow spectrum of splotches dot the kids’ creations and your own, as well as the last remaining white wall and the tarp beneath your feet. You and Aiden end up teaming up against Lexa and Tris, with Aiden bull rushing Lexa’s legs and you wrapping your paint covered arms around Tris for a big hug as she laughs and tries to squirm away.

Eventually, the kids are tired out, and you get one last idea. You have them dip their palms in their favorite colors – purple for Tris and blue for Aiden. How shocking. Lexa covers her hands in green, you dunk yours in red. “Okay, little people in the middle, big people on either side,” you instruct. Everyone obediently gets in position in front of the last fairly clean wall. “Hands up! Aaaaand – on the wall!” The kids gleefully high five the wall, you and Lexa following a moment later. “And lift!”

Four perfect pairs of multi-colored hand prints are left behind. You grab a thinner brush and dip it in black, painting ‘Our Family’ in swirly letters underneath.

Bath time is a complete and total nightmare.

* * *

Later, when Tris and Aiden are _finally_ settled in bed after their exciting day – Aiden’s room, this time – you take Lexa back to the spare room to show off your own painting.

“You know Orion isn’t anywhere near Cygnus in the sky, right?” Lexa teases you. “You can’t even see Cygnus right now.”

You roll your eyes at your wife. “Like I was going for accuracy,” you huff. “You complain about how you can’t see the stars here in the city – I wanted to bring some of them to you.”

Lexa wraps her arms around you from behind and you lean into her slightly taller frame. “I love it,” she whispers in your ear. “Thank you.” She kisses the corner of your jaw, making you hum. You could fall asleep here. “Let’s get you to bed, hmm?”

“Only if it involves you being naked,” you negotiate tiredly.

“I think that can be arranged.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally head canon Clarke's middle name as Lewis as a continuation of the whole Lewis and Clarke explorer theme. 
> 
> And how 'bout that leak, huh?


	22. Author's Note

Hey guys,

 

As you could tell from the title, this isn't a chapter. Given the amount of devastation still traversing my dashboard on Tumblr, I just wanted to tell everyone I'm _not_ giving this fic up. It's too important to me, especially this close to the end.

However.

I am hurt, and I am also devastated. It's hard to think about writing these two as happy as they deserve to be, and how I hope I have portrayed them in this story. But I'm not going to let it stop me. So I will be finishing this fic, all 25 chapters of it.

And I guess now's as good a time as any to tell you that there _will_ be a part 3 of this journey. I hadn't expected there to be, but I've been casually writing it for a few months while considering whether I would post it or not, and 3.07 decided me. Part 3 will be a little more unconventional, and might even become a fix-it fic, if I write it for long enough. I'll let you take that how you will.

As a secondary option while I gather my wits together, I have an original, complete novel that I have offered up on Tumblr for any who would like it. Since I seem unable to write fic right now, I thought that this would be the best way for me to help. It's my first, and precedes most of my fic and even my knowledge of the 100's existence, and follows a bisexual thief/lost warrior princess who meets a lesbian privateer while on her quest to find her adopted son. It's not always happy trails and I can't guarantee perfection, but I can promise that I won't hurt you, and neither of them die.

If you're interested, feel free to message me your email address at 'fairytaleslayer' on Tumblr, and I'll be happy to send you a copy of it. I'm not looking for anything in return - no feedback - you're under no obligation to even talk to me beyond the email. I just want to offer a safe place we don't get very often.

That's my spiel. I hope I'll be back soon.


	23. When There's Nothing but Dark and Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa feels like she's failing her client
> 
> Or
> 
> Clarke has to remind Lexa that what she comes home to is just as important

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Still angry and upset, like we all are, but the wonder that is Lexarke and the other stories that have cropped up recently have helped me to recover. Also, the 20+ people that asked for my book and were so great and open about it, and grateful....wow....that helped me I think more than it helped you. So thanks to you guys (If you're wondering what I'm talking about, go to my author's note in the previous chapter). 
> 
> Shout out to Georgie for wanting to see a relaxed family morning and Chuckleshan who wanted to know if Lexa ever lost any cases and basically is my motivation for still being in love with these characters and shouting headcanons about as we blatantly ignore canon. 
> 
> Without further ado, here's the latest chapter in the Fight Me series. I do want to put in a trigger warning for mentions of domestic violence. It in no way involves Lexa, Clarke, or any of the other characters. Just one of Lexa's cases that I talk about. All your faves are safe and good and healthy and happy. Lesbian and bisexual death-free zone.

_February 17, 2027_

“The jury could not reach a conclusion, Your Honor.”

“Then I declare this a mistrial. We will reconvene on Monday to begin the process of selecting a new jury.”

You can’t believe the words you just heard. There is no way the jury could have found your client anything other than not guilty – there must have been some mistake. To your right, Sarah begins crying as guards come to take her away. Her children are yelling for her in the seats behind your table before their grandmother shushes them.

“I’ll fix this, Sarah,” you promise desperately. The woman just looks at you with defeated eyes as she’s led from the court room. “I’ll fix this.”

You call Anya the second you leave the court house. “I need to punch something,” you growl angrily.

Anya doesn’t question you. “Meet you at the gym in forty minutes, as soon as I drop Rave off at the airport.”

You vaguely remember Raven is leaving for some big engineering conference in San Francisco for the week, but you brush it off. You’re too livid to focus on anything. “Hurry.”

“Lexa, hey,” Anya tries to soothe you. “Whatever happened, calm down and drive safe okay? It’s not worth your life.”

You take a deep breath and let it out. “I will. I’ll see you there.” You’re still furious.

* * *

You’re already working a punching bag by the time Anya shows up. “Hey, bruiser, take a break for a minute. You’re hands aren’t even wrapped,” she reprimands you. You ignore her and keep punching. The pain is necessary right now. “Lexa, stop. You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep it up. Lexa!”

Anya grabs you by the shoulders and tugs you away from the bag. You growl wordlessly at her, wrenching free and landing one more jab to the hard pleather.

“Are you done now?” Anya asks dryly. You just glare at her. “Seriously, what’s got you all riled up?”

“Nothing,” you snarl. “I told you I needed to hit something. Are you going to help me with that or not?”

“Not if it involves you purposely not protecting yourself, no,” Anya denies. “What’s all this about?”

You hit the bag again. “It’s not your problem.”

Anya groans impatiently and stalks off, leaving you to punch your bag in peace. The gym is deserted – two o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon is not a popular time, which you’re grateful for. Your best friend’s disappeared, but she wasn’t helping, so you don’t really care.

Until your wife walks into the gym twenty minutes later.

“Lexa?” her soft voice interrupts you mid punch.

“Clarke. Why are you here?” That comes out a bit harsher than you intended, but you’re still angry right now.

Your wife looks hurt and opens her mouth, but Anya comes out of nowhere and beats her to it. “Because I called her. She’s taking you home.”

“Why the fuck did you do that?” you snarl. You’d _trusted_ your friend to keep this private. Clarke didn’t need to know how messed up you are today.

“Because you’re being an idiot,” Anya states bluntly. “And I’m not going to deal with it.”

You growl and take a step toward her, but Clarke’s hand on your bicep stops you. “Please, Lex,” she murmurs. “Just come home, pretty girl.”

It is Clarke’s plead that gets to you. You sigh and nod, following her out of the gym and to her car. “I can drive home,” you protest as Clarke ushers you to the passenger seat.

“I’ll bring you tomorrow morning when you’ve cooled down and you can drive your car home,” Clarke promises. “Just get in mine for now, Lex.”

Reluctantly, you obey, grumbling all the while. The ten minute drive home is silent and you make no effort to break it. Clarke lets you be. You’re starting to feel guilty for how nasty you’re being right now, but you just need to wallow for a bit. You’ll apologize later.

* * *

“I have to go get the kids from Octavia’s in a few minutes,” Clarke begins when you’ve sullenly followed her into your home. “Care to share what happened before they get home, or are you going to be like this all night?”

“I think I’ll just go to bed,” you mutter. You just want to disappear.

Clarke sighs. “Tris and Aiden are going to want to see you. You know that.”

“I don’t think I’ll be good for them tonight,” you admit honestly. “I’ll apologize in the morning.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, but then Clarke walks over to give you a kiss on the cheek. Then she gently leads you to the bathroom to disinfect and wrap your split and bruised knuckles. You relax fractionally for the first time all afternoon when your wife envelopes you in a tight hug after she’s finished. “I don’t know what happened,” she murmurs quietly, “but I’m here. If you need to talk about it, or to forget about it, I’m here. Don’t let whatever it is eat at you, Lexa. It won’t make it better. Be upset tonight, but I need you tomorrow, okay?”

Your arms wrap around her slightly shorter body, and you bury your face in her hair. “I promise,” you whisper.

“Thank you. I’ll be back soon.” With that, Clarke’s back out the door, and you’re left alone with your thoughts.

You groan, heading for the bedroom you share with Clarke and collapsing onto the bed when you get there. You lie there for a few minutes before it gets uncomfortable in your court clothes. Getting up to change doesn’t sound ideal, but you know you’ll regret the wrinkles when you wake up, so you reluctantly haul yourself up one more time and slowly change into sweats and an old Columbia tee of Clarke’s that you’d claimed years ago. Feeling a bit calmer for the first time since the disastrous end of your case, you crawl beneath the covers and try to sleep.

You think you doze for a little while before the sound of the front door closing and your kids’ excited voices bring you back to alertness.

“Shh,” Clarke hushes them. “Mama had a hard day and she’s not feeling too good. Do you think we can be super quiet tonight so she can sleep and feel better?”

“Yes!” you hear Tris and Aiden gleefully whisper-shout. It _almost_ makes you smile, and any other day you would have laughed out loud. You fall back asleep after that, and only wake one more time when Clarke slides into bed behind you, pressing a kiss to the skin of your neck as she cuddles up to your back. You let out a sigh of contentment before moving into a deep, dreamless sleep that lasts the night.

* * *

The other side of the bed is cold when you wake up. You whine in dismay, wondering where your wife is. There are quiet sounds coming from the kitchen – whispers and hushes and the like – and you’re curious, but still too sleepy to find out what’s going on.

Until there’s the sound of something definitely not empty crashing to the floor, that is.

“Oops,” you hear Tris say _very_ softly, and then Clarke’s sigh of amused frustration, and you decide it’s time to get up.

When you make your way into the kitchen, you are greeted with the sight of what was once a very full bowl of pancake batter (you’re favorite) on the floor, one extremely guilty looking child, your wife, and a pancake monster on the floor – none of them moving an inch. But it’s the mix that splattered everywhere that makes you burst into laughter. Tris has splotches running up her legs, Clarke’s shoes are merely dotted with the stuff since she was closer to the stove, making bacon. Aiden however, is absolutely _drenched_ in your guys’ breakfast, having been playing with his Legos on the floor before the disaster occurred. Now your little five year old is frozen, squinting and blinking owlishly around the batter on his face.

You can’t stop laughing, because you _know_ that this was Clarke’s way of trying to cheer you up, even though she still doesn’t know what happened to upset you so badly. And it’s backfired a little bit, but in the absolute best way and in this moment all you can think is that you love her and your children so much.

“What happened little man?” you ask Aiden sympathetically, going to crouch next to your little batter-ed up kid.

“Sticky,” he complains, rubbing at his cheeks and only succeeding in getting the pancake mix smeared into his frizzy black hair.

“I can see that,” you chuckle. “Why don’t we get you cleaned up real quick?” You scoop him up into your arms, ignoring the mess he’s making of your clothes. It’ll wash out. “Tris, put your pants in the laundry room and then help Mommy clean up, alright?”

“Okay, Mama,” Tris looks down. “Sorry messy. ‘S heavy.”

You chuck her head up with a finger under her chin. “Neither of us are mad at you – are we, Mommy?”

“No, sweetheart,” Clarke confirms. “We don’t get upset about accidents. And you were trying to help. But now we know not to lift things that are too heavy for us, don’t we?” She looks at you meaningfully as she says this, and you squirm.

“Yes, Mommy,” Tris replies, looking a little brighter as she goes to the laundry room to toss her pants in the hamper.

You haul Aiden to the bathroom, dumping him in the tub – clothes and all – and run warm water. You quickly get his soiled clothes off of him and clean him up, leaving him to air dry while you get him a new outfit.

When you get back to the kitchen, you all make a new batch of pancake mix together.

* * *

“Do you want to talk about it now?” Clarke murmurs from where she lies behind you on the couch after your kids are off on their play date with Octavia’s for the afternoon – it was Lincoln’s turn to take them to the park.

“They announced the verdict for my case,” you admit.

“This is the one where the woman killed her husband, right?” Clarke confirmed.

You nod slightly. “He abused her for years, came close to killing her more than once. She found the courage to stand up and protect herself and her kids, and she gets charged with murder for it. The jury couldn’t reach consensus, and the judge declared it a mistrial. I failed her.”

Clarke’s quiet for a few minutes, thinking it over. “Well, you didn’t fail her,” she finally says. You try to protest, but she interrupts you. “No, just listen. She wasn’t found guilty. You have another chance at this. They’re going to pick a new jury, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. So start over. Find something you missed the first time that will convince _this_ jury. Don’t worry about the last one,” your wife insists. “For all you know, some wife beater got through and refused to find the woman not guilty. You’re an amazing lawyer, Lex. The best in the city. Everyone knows that. I highly doubt it was your fault.”

You frown. You hadn’t thought about it like that.

“What did you have in the way of medical evidence of the abuse?” Clarke asks.

“Not much. The guy that contracts with the police is an idiot,” you scoff.

Clarke nudges you. “See? So find a better one. There will be signs. Healed or healing micro-fractures in the bones are common in repeat injuries. A ruptured eardrum, scars the examiner maybe didn’t catch the first time, constant pain in her upper legs and pelvis, a miscarriage,” Clarke explains. “Those are things nurses are supposed to look for if we suspect abuse. I’ll bet your girl has one or more of those that your health professional missed if he’s as stupid as you say.”

You roll over on the couch so you can kiss your wife. “Thank you,” you say fervently.

Clarke shrugs. “It’s just a suggestion. I don’t actually know anything about winning court cases.”

“No, thank you for being here. I’m sorry I was stupid yesterday – I shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

“Pretty girl, you’re just not used to not winning,” Clarke grins. “But remember that no matter what the outcome is, whether you feel like you failed or not, you have the three of us to come home to. Leave the bad stuff from work at work, okay? Because the kids aren’t going to understand why Mama doesn’t want to see them when they get home.”

You nod, feeling guilty.

“And I’m not blaming you, god. It’s amazing how much you care about your clients and how you’re willing to do everything it takes to exonerate them. I’m so proud of you,” Clarke insists, kissing your forehead as you lean into her. “You’re going to win this one next time, I believe that completely.”

“Thank you,” you whisper. Clarke’s confidence in your abilities is a relief, especially when you had begun to doubt.

A hand runs through your curls, and you bury your face in Clarke’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay, babe,” your wife reassures you. “I’ve got you.”

You’ve never been more sure about anything as you are about that.

* * *

The new jury takes two hours to come to a verdict after your improved defense, complete with new medical evidence showing repeated bodily harm against your client. Sarah is declared not guilty of all charges.

The proud smile on Clarke’s face when you come home that night makes everything worth it. “I told you so,” she smirks, and you have to kiss the smugness off of her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at 'fairytaleslayer' if you want to talk about anything.


	24. In My Symbolised World I'm A Beautiful Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa is trying to take Clarke to a formal event for work.
> 
> Or
> 
> Clarke is trying to get Lexa to stay in bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From an ask that @decalexa received and I shamelessly stole to use as my own. A couple people wanted to see more smut as well, and here it is, despite my reticence. I’m going to go hide in my bed now.

_March 30, 2015_

You wake to the feeling of fingertips running lightly up and down your back, following the curve of your ribs. You keep your breathing even and steady, not wanting to disturb Clarke’s quiet moment. She’s worked three twelve hour shifts in a row in order to get tonight off to be with you and you know she has been exhausted and stressed. Plus her touch is perhaps your favorite thing in the world, besides maybe her voice, and you don’t want it to end anytime soon.

Clarke continues her absent-minded strokes for a few more minutes, then pulls her hand away. You frown, missing the feel of her smooth skin on yours immediately. But then even softer lips begin to press against your neck, and you nearly moan. The butterfly touches slowly make their way down your neck to your torso, before following your spine to the dip of your lower back.

Of course, Clarke already knows you’re awake. “Pretty girl,” the words are murmured against your skin, and you smile happily. Clarke’s just started using that pet name, and while you have never been partial to them before, you love this one. “We have to get up and get ready to go.”

Your smile quickly turns into a whine.

Clarke’s husky giggle fills the room. “Did you sleep well, grumpy?” she teases.

You turn over and finally look at your girlfriend. “The best,” you reply, earning a grin from the beauty in front of you. “What about you?”

Your blonde nurse nods. “After the last two nights away from you, I slept like a baby.”

“I told you months ago,” you tease her. “Separation issues. You can’t sleep without me.”

Clarke scoffs and collapses back onto the bed, cuddling up to your side. “So I miss you when you’re not next to me,” she mutters as she burrows under your arm and presses her face into your shoulder. “I’m dating you. I moved in with you. Aren’t I supposed to miss you when you’re not around?”

You hold her close. “I ache for every second you are not by my side,” you confess. “Sometimes that scares me, but mostly it is exhilarating.”

Clarke rewards your words with a kiss, gently tangling her tongue with yours and making you moan. “Do we have time?” she whispers, sliding a leg over your body so she’s straddling you.

You nod frantically, deepening the kiss once more. One of Clarke’s hands taps its way up the inside of your thigh, and you whine when she skips right over where you want her desperately. You grab her hand and move it back down. “We have time, but not for teasing,” you gasp out.

“Whatever you say,” Clarke chuckles, mercifully dipping her fingers into wetness that makes you tense and groan. But again, they don’t really go where you want them to.

“Clarke,” you warn.

“What, pretty girl?” your girlfriend teases.

You growl and flip the two of you over so Clarke is now the one pressed into the sheets. “If you can’t do it right, I guess I’ll just have to show you how.” You immediately move down, laying kisses across her chest and your hand going to the apex of Clarke’s thighs.

Clarke groans when your fingers glide through her slit and to the nub of her clit. You run your thumb across it, drawing an arched back and a gasped out moan from the blonde beneath you. You rub harder on your second pass, and soon settle into a rhythm that has Clarke’s legs tensing and her hips rocking against the mattress.

Your gaze moves from Clarke’s face down to her heaving chest, and you can’t hold yourself back. Your mouth dips to cover one of her breasts with nips and kisses. As you make your way towards her sternum, you suck harder, leaving a mark that will definitely form a bruise later. That draws a groan from Clarke.

“Lexa,” your girlfriend moans, and you know what she needs. She’s wet enough already, and two fingers slide inside of her easily. Clarke’s responding cry is choked off as you draw out and push back in – harder this time. Your thumb swirls around her clit, adding to her pleasure, and it’s not long before Clarke’s eyes are rolling to the back of her head and her entire body tenses.

You coax Clarke through her spasms gently, watching for the moment when Clarke is able to breathe again. You’d worried, the first time you’d slept together and Clarke hadn’t taken a breath throughout the length of the first orgasm you’d given her. You’d been so scared you hurt her that you stopped moving entirely, until Clarke whined and opened her eyes, wondering why you weren’t helping her through the aftershocks. She’d had to reassure you for more than a few minutes that it was normal for her and that she was perfectly fine before you had been willing to touch her again.

But now you’re used to it, and you know that the longer Clarke is still, the more intense her orgasm is. You had been gentle today, though, and she calms fairly quickly and beams at you with dazed eyes. You kiss the tip of her nose, and then her forehead, her eyelids when they flutter closed, and finally her waiting mouth. “Now you,” she whispers against your hovering lips, making you shiver.

You pull away reluctantly. “I’m afraid we’re out of time now if we don’t want to be late to the luncheon.” Your firm has two extravagant events: a gala at Christmas and a luncheon for Easter, and every employee is required to make an appearance. No matter how low on the totem pole. Only illness is an excuse to not show, and the person had better be contagious and/or dying. You’re not entirely sure why Easter is the second holiday the firm celebrates – you think _maybe_ Mr. Fiogle, your boss, is Catholic. Or it’s just tradition. Either way, you have to dress up in your finest and attend. They’re definitely not your favorite ways to spend your preciously scarce free time, but this is the first time you’re able to bring Clarke with you, and that makes the idea much more appealing.

Clarke pouts, though, not happy about having to leave the bed. “I changed my mind,” she declares. “We can’t go. That way they’ll fire you for not showing up, and then we never have to leave bed again.” She looks positively thrilled at her _brilliant_ plan.

You raise an eyebrow pointedly. “ _You_ can stay here, but I have to go,” you remind her. “It’s mandatory.”

“Doesn’t sound very relaxing,” Clarke points out.

“I never said I wanted to go.”

“Okay,” Clarke groans. “I want to see if your coworkers are all as stupid as you complain they are anyways.”

You roll your eyes. “They are,” you confirm. You grudgingly roll off of your girlfriend and get to your feet, going over to where you’d put aside your outfit for today. It’s the start of spring, so you’ve gone for a lighter color scheme of beige slacks and blazer with a light blue tie that had perfectly matching tan swirls running through it.

Arms slip around your waist as you are buttoning up your crisply tailored white oxford. “How crucial is it that we be on time?” Clarke asks, resting her chin on your shoulder.

“Clarke, you know I hate being late,” you remind her for the thousandth time.

You can feel her nodding. “Yeah, I do. But – how important is it? You were so good to me, and I want to return the favor. Especially with you looking so. Fucking. _Hot_ ,” she punctuates her words with tiny nips to your neck that are too light to leave a mark, “in that suit.”

“You didn’t even let me put it all on yet.”

“Why haven’t I seen you wearing one before?” Clarke ignores you. She moves your collar aside and bites down harder on skin that can be easily hidden, making you gasp.

“Haven’t – really – needed to,” you stutter out, trying and failing to control your need. “The only other time would have been the Christmas party last year, and I was sick, remember?” Clarke hums thoughtfully, waiting, and you sigh eventually. “I could stand to be a – few minutes late, I suppose,” you give in. Like she knew you would.

You’re whirled around and Clarke’s grin is already reward enough for conceding. “Good. Because I need you to take all your clothes off.”

* * *

You’re an _hour_ late to the luncheon. And it’s all Clarke’s fault.

Mr. Fiogle just gives you a knowing look and a thumbs up, making you blush and glance away from the old man. You don’t know which is worse – the fact that your boss knows why you were late to his big event, or the fact that he totally approves the reason why you were late to his big event.

But Clarke giggles and kisses your cheek as you take her over to meet Fiogle, and you just decide to be grateful, instead.


	25. The Weapon you Make of My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke wants to take Lexa out for their anniversary.
> 
> Or
> 
> Raven's experiment goes a bit too far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter! 
> 
> Okay, so this chapter has my first perspective change - I switch to Anya's POV in the middle and then back to Clarke's so don't get confused there. Thanks to chuckleshan once more for inundating me with questions and prompts and making sure I actually write my damn stories so I don't go crazy from studying.

_January 24, 2021_

“Clarke, it’s too soon to leave her,” Lexa tells you for the tenth time this hour alone. “Tris isn’t even a year old we can’t leave her alone all night.”

You roll your eyes. “Lex, she’ll be with Raven and Anya – not _alone._ What kind of mom do you take me for? They are perfectly capable of looking after Tris for a few hours while I take you to dinner.”

“But –” Lexa tries to protest, but you cut her off.

“No. It has been ten months and twenty-two days since our last date. It’s our fourth anniversary tomorrow pretty girl, and I am taking you out.” You say it like the matter is settled, and it is, because Lexa always gives in. And she wants a night off too, you know. Eight months of nothing but Tris and work, and while you both are the happiest you’ve ever been, you are also both exhausted. You need a night with Lexa where you don’t have to worry about feeding Tris in twenty minutes or changing her diaper. Plus you just miss having your wife to yourself sometimes.

Lexa sighs, and you’ve won. “Alright,” she agrees. “They can take care of Tris for the night.”

You beam at her. “Thank you, Lexa.” You lean up to give her a grateful kiss that your wife happily returns. “I’ll arrange everything.” You don’t tell her that you’ve had the reservations for weeks. You knew she’d relent.

* * *

_January 25, 2021_

“And make sure she doesn’t put anything weird in her mouth,” Lexa warns Raven and Anya. “She’s going through a phase and everything you let her grab will end up in her mouth so watch her like a hawk.”

“We _know_ Lexa,” Raven rolls her eyes. Anya looks amused, holding up a finger of the hand not currently holding your child for Tris to grab onto. Tris promptly tries to bite it and Anya jerks her hand away, no longer looking as amused.

“See?” Lexa says, her point proven. “Be careful.”

You put a soothing hand on her arm. “It’s okay, Lexa. That’s how she learns, remember,” you try to calm her. “They understand – you’ve already told them everything twice. We’re going to be late for dinner if we don’t go now.”

Lexa sighs, and you know how anxious she is at the thought of being apart from Tris for so long. You are a bit nervous, as well, but you’re hiding it so maybe Lexa will be a bit more confident that you believe everything will be fine. “Okay, okay,” she agrees. “Let’s go.” You each give Tris a kiss to the forehead, Lexa gives one last warning to Raven, and then you’re off.

* * *

You haven’t told Lexa where you’re taking her for dinner or after, but you hope she likes it. When she realizes what parking lot you’re pulling into, your wife scoffs and rolls her eyes, but smiles fondly. You’ve come back to the Italian restaurant Lexa had tried to take you to for the first anniversary of her being your girlfriend, and after the Finn debacle, you haven’t returned since. But you thought now might be a good time to associate new memories with it. And by Octavia’s account, the food is to _die_ for, which is a plus.

“You’re a dork, you know that?” Lexa asks. “All this fuss to get me to go out and you just bring me to Italian? I was expecting a four course meal at the very least,” she teases.

You huff and swat her shoulder. “Watch me try to be romantic again,” you mutter.

Lexa laughs and leans over the console to give you a kiss on the cheek. “We’d just better hope that poor waitress doesn’t still work here,” she murmurs before getting out of the car and hurrying over to open your door for you.

“Ever the chivalrous wife,” you chirp happily, bouncing out. “You’re going to love where I’m taking you next.”

“You mean dinner isn’t all of it?”

You scoff. “As if. I’m romancing you.” You give your name for the reservation and the hostess escorts you to your table.

“I already married you,” Lexa reasons.

“I’m keeping the love alive.”

Lexa puts an arm around your shoulders as you settle into a booth, nuzzling your temple. “I appreciate it, but you don’t need to take me on a special night out to ‘keep the love alive’,” she murmurs, looking at you with adoring eyes.

You give her a look. “I know. But sometimes I just want to spoil you, and I haven’t been able to since Tris was born. You were basically a single mom to her while I was in the hospital for the first month of her life, except for when I was feeding her, and I never felt like I thanked you for that. I don’t know what I would have done without you,” you say earnestly.

Lexa kisses your forehead, making you smile up at her. “Luckily, neither of us had to find out,” she replies. “And I never want to, so remember that you’re still contractually obligated not to terrify me for another four months.”

That brings you out of your darkening thoughts and makes you laugh. “I remember, don’t worry.”

* * *

Dinner is fabulous – you wish you’d gotten to taste it six years ago. After, you take Lexa to the dancing studio where you had your second date, and the grin and bright look Lexa gives you when you pull in is worth all the convincing it took to get the new owner of the studio to allow you to rent a private room after hours.

* * *

“Rave, what the hell are you doing?” you ask your girlfriend. She looks up guiltily from the multi-colored papier mache volcano she and the tiny human are huddled around. Or, Raven is huddled – Tris is just kind of sitting on the floor. She hasn’t figured out how to walk yet, but she does have an unmistakable glaringly orange box of baking soda in her hand, primed by Raven for dumping in. “Lexa is going to flay you.”

Raven gets defensive. “It’s never too early to get her interested in STEM, Ahn,” she protests. “The majority of girls give up on STEM subjects before high school. I’m just making sure she stays engaged.” Behind her, Tris is looking into the volcano with interest as the baking soda dips closer to spilling over the edge.

You valiantly try to mask your smile at the disaster about to unfold behind Raven. Lexa may actually kill her for this one, which you suppose you and Clarke will have to prevent. “Uh-huh,” you muse. “Tris looks engaged alright.”

Just as Raven catches on to the realization that she stopped watching Tris, the baby loses her grip on the box – you’re surprised she was able to hold it _that_ long, but she’s been strong since day one – and the entire container of baking soda pours into the volcano. “Oh, no,” Raven groans.

Purple foam explodes absolutely _everywhere._ You’re no rocket scientist like your girlfriend, but you’re pretty sure none of the many volcano projects you’ve seen in your life ever erupted that violently. If you weren’t so amused by the defeat on Raven’s face and the gleeful laughter Tris is letting out, you would definitely be more upset about the fact that the entirety of your kitchen is now slightly purple. “What did you _put_ in that?” you ask.

Raven sighs. “An agonist to make the volcano a little more fun, but _somebody_ ,” she glares balefully at Tris, “put in too much bicarb.”

“You gave an infant a heavy box, what did you expect to happen?” you deadpan.

“For her to be a little more responsible!” Raven protests, shooting a look at the child. Tris’ smile in an older person would be called a smirk, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think she did it on purpose. “See! Look at her, she knew exactly what she was doing she’s totally guilty!”

“She’s a _baby_ , Rave,” you deny. “Now you’d better get this cleaned up before Clarke and Lexa come to pick Tris up and you had better hope to god Lexa never finds out what you let Tris do.”

“Too late,” Lexa’s stern voice comes from the doorway, and you both freeze.

Tris squeals happily at the sight of her parents, babbling nonsense words and flinging some purple foam with her tiny hands. You can see Clarke desperately holding back laughter, but Lexa just looks murderous. “Traitor,” Raven mutters out of the corner of her mouth to the baby, who just laughs again and starts to crawl for her moms.

You decide to jump in before Lexa actually forgets that she likes Raven and tries to kill her. “Two things: one, remember that she’s my girlfriend and I will be obligated to defend Raven if you go after her. And I’m the krav maga instructor and you’re the lawyer so I think we know how that will go. Second, it was an accident and Raven is very sorry. Aren’t you, _Raven_?” you ask pointedly.

“Yup,” Raven practically squeaks. Your girlfriend is scared of nothing – has a big secret job she can’t even tell you about, but you know is dangerous – but she is definitely the tiniest bit terrified of Lexa. “Total accident, but also perfectly safe.”

“What the fuck did you do, Raven?” Lexa grits out.

Raven gasps theatrically. “Innocent ears, Lexa!” she reprimands.

“I’d rather know why you had her around a bomb, Raven!” Lexa shoots back.

You’re grateful when Clarke takes that opportunity to step in. “Babe, take a second,” she says calmly. “Look.” She bends down to grab Tris, who has just reached their feet. “Tris is fine, see? Perfect, apart from needing a bath and ruining her clothes. Raven wouldn’t let her touch anything toxic, right Raven?”

“No, totally,” Raven is quick to assure them. “Just some baking soda and vinegar and food coloring. Perfectly safe. Just a little too much baking soda when Tris dropped the box.”

You catch on to the white lie – Raven had mentioned an agonist to make the reaction more violent – but you’d like to keep your girlfriend, so you stay quiet on that front. “I distracted Raven from watching Tris,” you offer. “Before that she was keeping a really good eye on her and it would have been fine.”

“See, pretty girl?” Clarke coaxes your best friend, handing their daughter off to her. Lexa finally relaxes marginally when Tris is safely tucked in her arms. “No harm done. But we won’t be doing another experiment for a few years, will we Rae?” Clarke warns.

Raven shakes her head emphatically. “Nope. Lesson learned, Commander. No more explosions.” She salutes comically.

Lexa shakes her head. “We’ll be talking about this some more,” she informs the both of you.

“Lexa, you can’t threaten your friends. You know that. We’re going to go home, and you’re going to calm down. And then we’ll talk with Raven and Anya later like the civilized human beings we are about how science experiments are not the best idea for an eight month old,” Clarke takes control of the situation.

It’s not too much later before the blonde ushers Lexa out the door with a hasty good night, leaving you and Raven with a mess to clean up. Or rather, for Raven to clean up. None of this is your fault. Raven groans. “You’re not going to help me, are you?”

You smile at the fact that she knows you so well. “I’m not inclined to, given the shitstorm you created. But – I could be…persuaded,” you allow. Raven smirks and get to her feet, and you are finally happy about where this night is headed.

* * *

“Of all the irresponsible, half-witted, disasters of an idea she’s ever had – and Raven’s had many – this tops the list,” Lexa is still complaining as you walk into your house. She heads straight for the bathtub with Tris, and you tag along after.

“Lexa,” you soothe as she runs warm water and you get the bubble bath. “It’s okay. Tris is safe. She didn’t get hurt. You know Raven wouldn’t do anything with Tris unless she was absolutely sure that nothing would harm her even if it did go sideways. You overreacted.”

“I did not,” Lexa grumps, and you smother your giggles at how adorable she’s being. Tris has no such inhibition, squealing and patting at her mother’s leg as a request to be held. “I reacted the perfect amount. You under-reacted.”

“Babe,” you grin. “That was a classic overreaction. You’re dramatic enough to star in your own soap opera.”

Lexa just huffs and stoops to pick Tris up. “Abby will agree with me when we see her tomorrow,” she mutters balefully.

“My mom will think it’s hilarious and you know it,” you deny. “Now take your clothes off and get in the bath with Tris. You are _far_ too tense for our anniversary.”

“You just want my clothes off so you can get your hands on me as soon as Tris is in bed,” Lexa shoots back immediately.

You shrug, not denying it. “My wife’s hot. Can you blame me?”

Lexa grumbles, hands you Tris, and proceeds to remove her clothes before taking Tris back and getting in the bath with her. You finally get her to relax completely while you scrub her back and massage her neck as she washes your daughter.

“I’m still telling Abby,” Lexa informs you a long while later, after Tris is deep into sleep and you were finally able to satisfy your wife more than once.

You chuckle sleepily. “Be my guest. I’m still right.”

“We’ll see,” Lexa challenges. You’re too tired for more of Lexa’s dramatics, so you just reach over and drag her into your shoulder so anything else she says is muffled by your skin. She grunts, knowing exactly what you just did, but settles down anyway, nuzzling further into the space between your neck and shoulder.

You both quickly drift off to sleep.

* * *

_January 26, 2021_

You were right. Your mom, knowing all about Raven’s antics in the past, thought the volcano incident was hilarious once you had assured her that her granddaughter was unharmed. This only serves to make Lexa even more disgruntled, and she pouts on the floor and plays with Tris while you continue the story.

“So we walk in – fancy dinner, private dancing studio, _finally_ got her to relax for the first time in eight months – and all we hear is Anya getting after Raven in the kitchen,” you explain. “We get there, and there is purple just – _everywhere_. I don’t know why Raven decided to make the lava purple, but that’s beside the point. It was everywhere. And Tris is in the middle of it with Raven, just covered in it. And the first – the _first_ – words out of Lexa’s mouth are –”

“Fuck!”

All of you freeze.

“Fuck!” Tris says again.

Lexa is staring at Tris, looking absolutely mortified. You are glaring at your wife – you can’t believe the first real word out of your daughter’s mouth was a swear. There’s a small noise behind you, and you turn around to find your mom, the traitor, trying to hold back a grin and utterly failing.

“Fuck!”

“No, Tris,” you reprimand her. “No, we don’t say that word. Lexa, I can’t believe you,” you growl at the still stunned brunette. “This is your fault.”

“I’m sorry,” Lexa apologizes, still looking horrified. “I didn’t –”

“Oh, it’s not all Lexa’s fault,” Abby interrupts. “I’m afraid there’s precedence.”

You stop glaring daggers at Lexa to give your mom a confused look. “What do you mean? Was yours or Dad’s first word a curse word?”

“No. Yours was.”

Now you’re even more confused, and Lexa is beginning to look less embarrassed and more interested. “You always said my first word was ‘No’.”

“Yeah, we lied.” Abby rushes to continue before you can interrupt. “Your dad was trying to fix something in the car without taking it in – prove to me he could be handy. He was under that hood all day, working. You were about Tris’ age and you were hanging out outside with him.” She sighs nostalgically. “Turns out Jake wasn’t handy at fixing anything. He hit something wrong just as I was coming out to check on him, and whatever it was, broke. He yelled ‘Damn it’, and before we knew it, you copied him. We were so embarrassed we never told anyone and just told you you’re first word was ‘No’. It was your third word, after ‘Damn’ and ‘it’.”

You stare at your mother, wide-eyed. You see a grin creeping up the corners of Lexa’s mouth, and you fix your glare on her anew. “Don’t even think about it,” you hiss.

“It’s genetic – it’s totally not my fault. You can’t blame me for this one,” Lexa replies gleefully.

“I can and I will.”

“Fuck!”

“No, Tris!” you and Lexa yell at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, here's the thing. You know how I said lesbian and bisexual death free zone? I promised that, and I'm sticking to that promise, but the last chapter is going to take a little while, because, not gonna lie, I was originally going to have both Clarke and Lexa die in the last chapter. But then 307 happened, and I am no longer comfortable with writing that ending. I wrote some of it months ago, but now I need to completely rework it to fit the new agenda, so just be patient with me on that one. I also want to get some more of Part 3 - which now has a name! - done before I post the last chapter. I hope you guys like the sequel - it's gonna be a trip.


	26. Are You Waving Hello or Waving Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Griffin-Woods household is gathering to celebrate two of its members
> 
> Or
> 
> Tris Griffin-Woods doesn't understand how she got so lucky

_September 28, 2060_

You have always known that your parents could never be separated. They did everything together as far back as you can remember. They coached your soccer team, drove you to birthday parties, even both gave your first prom date a stern talk. Never mind she’d just been your best friend, they insisted on embarrassing you together.

It was incomprehensible when you were a child, the kind of love they shared. As a teenager, you could only hope to one day find somebody to love like that. It’s only as an adult that you realized that that kind of love isn’t something to be found. It is something your parents worked every day for, over and over and over again.

You asked your mom once, when you were twenty and had the entire world at your feet, how after all this time, they kept their love burning as strong as the day they got married. Your mom had laughed, and that voice that had soothed your nightmares as a kid replied, “Sex.”

“Gross! That is not something I ever needed to know about you two,” you had complained, making a disgusted face.

Your mom only laughed harder. “But really. The sex was great, but communication was always key for us. You’ll find it is in any relationship. You know how when you read those novels and you yell at the characters that if they would just talk to each other, so many problems could be avoided? We always talked. We didn’t let anything fester between us. The one time we did, we almost lost each other.”

You had nodded, still not really understanding. There had to be more to it than just that. “But how did you know? That you had found the person you wanted to spend the rest of your life with?”

“I only had to look, sweetheart. I knew on our first date. Others don’t have it so easy. For others it takes a long time to know, but I lucked out.”

* * *

Twenty years later, your mom’s words still ring in your ears as if it was yesterday. She had been right – it wasn’t as easy for you. You and your first girlfriend hadn’t made it past high school, and you had a boyfriend your first year of college. The night he tried to take you back to his place was the night you realized you were never going to be able to sleep with a guy. A few more girls had followed, but now you have a wife you’ve been married to for just over ten years, and you finally understand. You understand how working for your relationship isn’t really work at all because you want to be with her for the rest of your life and love her for the rest of her life, just as your moms have done.

“Can’t you go any faster, Mama?” you son, Devon, says impatiently from the backseat.

Marie chuckles. “Unless you want Mama to get a ticket, kid – which will slow us down much more – then no, she can’t go any faster.”

Devon groans dramatically, making the both of you laugh. When you and Marie talked about children a few years into your marriage, you decided that adoption was the best path. You adore your little brother, and you had wanted to give another child the same second chance your moms gave Aiden. The papers came through for Devon when he was six, and now he’s eleven and constantly spoiled by his grandparents.

Your parents retired a few years ago, although your mom still goes in to the hospital a few days a week to ‘help out’. You’re not entirely sure what she does there, but it makes her happy. She and your mother have taken a few trips as well now that they have the time.

“Alright, kiddo. We’re here,” you announce as you pull into the driveway. Devon is out of the car almost before you put it in park. “Dev, what did we say about unbuckling your seat belt before the car is stopped?” you call after him, but he’s already inside the house.

Marie kisses your cheek. “It’s no use, babe. You know how he is.”

“Well, are you two going to come in or are you just leaving Devon with us?” your mother says from her doorway. “Because that’s fine. You can go.”

You groan. Your family’s always ganging up on you. Your mother claims it’s payback from all your arguing and debating when you were a child. “We’re coming, Mama.” You and Marie get out of the car.

“Lexa, leave your daughter alone,” you hear your mom reprimand your mother from inside the house.

“Okay, fine. Marie, you can come in. Don’t you have work, Tris?” Your mother grins.

“Mom!” you yell.

“Lexa, what did I say?” Clarke says again, sounding distracted.

Lexa sighs. “Alright, Tris can stay too.”

Marie laughs and goes inside to greet her other mother-in-law. “What did I ever do to you?” you mutter. “You and Aunt Raven, I swear to god.”

“Have you forgotten your entire childhood, O Daughter of Mine?” your mother asks. “You know, Raven still hasn’t forgiven you for the volcano incident.”

“I don’t even remember that!” you protest.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not your fault their kitchen is still slightly purple around the edges.”

“Mom!”

Your mom appears in the doorway. “Lexa,” she sighs.

Your mother grins. “Alright, alright,” she gives in, giving your mom a kiss. “Come on, Tris. Your mom made cookies. I’m afraid to test them, so Devon’s being the guinea pig.”

Your mom smacks her shoulder. “You’re forgetting, _dear_ , that you are the one who cannot bake. How can you be an amazing cook and never pick up any baking skills?”

“It’s different from cooking, Clarke,” your mother denies. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“It’s literally, math, Lex. You like math, unlike me. All you have to do is follow the directions.”

“Well the directions are wrong.”

“They work for the other seven billion people in the world, Lexa.”

Your mother is still protesting as you follow your parents inside. “What took you so long, Mama?” Devon asks around a mouthful of cookie.

“Oh, your grandmamma is being a pain, as usual,” you complain good-naturedly. Your son grins. “Now, where’s your uncle? Mom, when is Aiden getting here?”

“He told us Amy had to work today so probably around three,” Clarke answers. “We’ll do presents then.”

Devon bounces excitedly in his chair. It’s both his and your mother’s birthday, and Lexa goes all out for Devon, claiming that since it’s her birthday too, she can do whatever she wants. Which _always_ means way more presents than Devon needs, but you can’t really deny either of them anything, and neither can your mom. You’re all wrapped around Devon’s little fingers.

“So, how was Japan, Clarke?” Marie asks.

Your mom rolls her eyes. “Almost a medical emergency. That one wanted to eat fugu.”

“The chefs are specially trained, Clarke,” your mother points out. “It wouldn’t have been that dangerous.”

“It only takes once, pretty girl. Seventy years old is not the time to be trying poisonous sushi for the first time.”

“Mama, why would they put poison on food?” Devon asks.

You shrug. “You got me, kid. For the thrill, I guess.”

“That sounds stupid.”

“Yeah, Mama,” you grin. “That sounds stupid.”

Your mother huffs. “Well, Clarke didn’t let me eat it, so it was a non-issue.”

Devon tries to reach for another cookie, but you grab his wrist. “What did we say about cookies before dinner?” you remind him.

You son winces. “Only one.”

“Oh, let him have two,” your mother says. “It is his birthday after all.” Devon happily reaches for another cookie and stuffs it in his mouth before you can protest again.

You glare at your mother. “Oh, don’t give me that look,” she dismisses. “You used to give your Grandma Abby the biggest puppy dog eyes until she gave you three cookies before dinner when it wasn’t even your birthday. Didn’t she Clarke?”

“You did,” your mom agrees.

“So I can have three?” Devon asks hopefully.

“No,” Marie finally jumps in, rescuing you. “You can have another after dinner.”

After that, things settle down. Your mom putters around the kitchen, Marie helping her get dinner ready. It’s lasagne, yours and Devon’s favorite. Aiden should be here soon, with his wife and their new daughter. Devon and your mother have their heads together, whispering about something. You shake your head. Those two are trouble, even with your mother’s old age. She’s still going strong, and sometimes you think she’ll live forever.

“Hey, Mama?” you break in.

Your son and mother look up. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“Can I talk to you? Just for a minute.”

“Sure. Do you want to go to your mom’s studio?”

You nod. “Yeah, that would be good.”

“Are you okay, Mama?” Devon asks, looking worried.

You lean down and kiss the top of his head as you pass. “I’m fine, kiddo. You keep your mom and grandma company. We’ll be right back.” You follow your mother to where your mom does all her artwork. She has a lot more time for it now that she’s retired and you’ve always loved seeing her paintings.

“What’s the matter, Tris?” your mother asks, distracting you.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just – I just wanted to say thank you, you know?” You shrug. You don’t really know how to get across what you want to tell her. “You know I asked Mom once, how you and her managed to stay so in love with each other.”

“Sex,” your mother says bluntly.

You burst out laughing. “She said the same thing. And I still don’t want to think about it. But without you two,” you sober up, “I don’t think I would have Marie. Or Devon. And I don’t really know why I’m feeling all reminiscent today, but I was. So, yeah. Thanks Mama.”

Your mother wraps you up in the kind of hug that always made you feel safe as a kid. It still does, although you don’t know when you got to be taller than her. “You never have to thank me, Tris,” she whispers. “You came out perfect.”

“Could you give me your definition of perfect, because I can barely hold a cup of coffee in the morning,” you try to lighten the mood, but your mother just slaps your shoulder.

“Oh, hush and let me compliment you. You and Aiden are the best things we ever did, and your mom and I are and have always been so proud of you. You know that, right?”

You sink back into your mother’s embrace. “Yes, we know that,” you reassure her. She takes your head between her hands and gently kisses your forehead. It _almost_ makes you tear up.

“Hey, Marie said you two came back here. You alright?” your mom says from the doorway.

“We’re fine. Your daughter was just feeling emotional today,” your mother teases.

You glare at her betrayal. “I was not!”

“Were you or were you not almost crying right then?” Your mother gives you a knowing look. “I don’t know where she gets it from, wife, because it certainly wasn’t me.”

“Oh yeah, pretty girl?” your mom doubts. “I’m pretty sure Raven and Anya could tell you a thing or two about all those ‘heart eyes’ you used to give me, as they call it.”

“Still gives you,” you add, always willing to tease your mother.

Your mother grumbles. “See what I get for being the supportive mom,” she grunts as she goes to leave. “Nothing but trouble.” You kiss her cheek as she passes you, making her smile. “Yeah, yeah. I love you, kid.”

“You two okay?” your mom asks.

You nod happily. “Yeah. I just was thinking about what you told me years ago when I was in college and didn’t think I’d ever find someone I loved as much as you and Mama love each other. But I did, and it’s only because of you guys. So I just wanted to say thank you.”

“Oh, honey. We didn’t have anything to do with that. You and Marie are perfect because you love her exactly the way she needs to be loved, and she with you. If you loved her the same way I love your mother, it would be a completely different relationship.” She comes over to give you a hug of her own. “What brought all this up?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug helplessly. “Just – birthdays, I guess. They make me nostalgic for the past or something. And I don’t tell you guys enough. How thankful I am for you.”

“You tell us plenty,” your mom reassures you. “And you show it. You bring Devon and Marie over all the time. You and Aiden are so close and that is a gift to us as well. Never doubt that we know how much you care. We know.”

You’ve always been close with your mother, maybe because you share her genes, but you have a special bond with your mom as well. They helped you in different ways growing up, and if you couldn’t go to one, you always knew the other would have the answer. Your mom was the first person you came out to, and even being one hundred percent sure everything would be fine, it still took you a couple months to tell her you had a girlfriend. They’d always supported you though, and you don’t think any kid was ever luckier than you.

“Dinner’s going to burn if you don’t get back there, isn’t it?” you ask. “You know Marie’s a disaster with an oven.”

Your mom chuckles. “As long as your mother isn’t too distracted by trying to sneak Dev cookies, it should be fine. But we should probably go make sure,” your mom agrees. You subtly wipe a tear from your cheek, hoping she doesn’t notice. If she does, she lets it go without a word.

“You go. I’ll be there in a minute.” Your mom nods, leaving you alone. You take a moment to look around at the walls you, Aiden, and your mother painted so many years ago, smiling as you recall fond memories of that day. You walk over to the fourth wall, which still has all of your handprints plastered on. Four are faded, but four newer ones have joined them. Marie’s and Amy’s – both done when they had married you and your brother. Devon’s was next – from the day you adopted him officially. Most recently, little Nyla has made her mark on the wall – the day she came home from the hospital. You run your palm over the tiny hand print that once belonged to you. “You have so much to look forward to,” you whisper to your little self from all those years ago. Your hand goes to your mother’s print next, and you’re surprised to find that they match perfectly. “Don’t waste any of it.”

You turn your back on the past, and go back to where your family is waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap. I had the hardest time writing this last chapter - I just didn't want to let it go. Seriously guys, I almost cried. I've been consumed by this universe for nearly a year, and on that note - chapter one of part 3 of this series will be up on the one year anniversary of me posting the first chapter of Fight Me. June 14th. It will be called Fight For Me, and as I said before, it's going to be a little different than I think you're expecting. So be on the lookout.
> 
> Thanks for taking this journey with me! It's been a blast!


	27. Tris and Anya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friend needed cheering up, and wanted more baby Tris. I had so much fun writing in this world again that I decided to share it.

_July 13, 2023_

You have Tris for the day. Aiden is at his annual checkup with Abby and then will be off to physical therapy with Raven. He relearned how to walk six months ago after his broken femur from the accident had healed, and now the therapist and Raven were working on getting rid of his limp. Whenever Lexa can’t work from home or Clarke doesn’t have the day off, the kids cycle between their many aunts and uncles. As the first child of your friend group, Tris was never lacking for attention or spoiling. You are as much a culprit as anyone else, to Clarke and Lexa’s eternal dismay. They probably thought that out of everyone, you would be the most able to resist her pout, but you are just as powerless against her puffed out lip and wide eyes. “Tris, how do you want your peanut butter and jelly?” you call into the other room where Tris is hopefully still occupied with her toys.

“No crust!” the three year old shouts.

“So extra crust? Got it!” You grin. Wait for it.

“No!” Tris screeches, running the little hoppy run that all toddlers have. “No Aunny Ya, no crust!”

You’ve never wanted kids of your own, and neither does Raven, but the way Tris does her best to pronounce ‘Aunt Anya’ sure makes your heart melt. You feel for the kid, you do – the name is difficult to say for an adult, let alone Tris, so she’s formed some kind of amalgamation that is just too adorable. Not that Lexa will ever know that, or she’d make fun of you for going soft until the end of time. “Alright, alright, Tris. No crust it is.” You slice up a banana real quick and stick it all on a plate. “Here you go, kiddo.”

“Thanks, Aunny Ya.”

Your cellphone rings when Tris is almost finished with her lunch and you groan when the ID says it’s the dojo. “I said I wasn’t coming in today,” you growl, not even waiting to see who’s on the line. “I’m watching the squirt.”

“Sorry boss.” Your whole staff is damn lucky it’s Artigas calling you, your loudly professed favorite employee. If it was anyone not the kid, you’d have to kick all their asses for calling on one of your _extremely_ rare days off. Managing your own business is exhausting, even one you love as much as the dojo. “Ryder’s got the flu or something. Called in so we’ve got no one to teach the afternoon aikido course at two thirty except you. Ontari’s gonna be busy with a judo class and Lincoln’s got a personal training appointment.”

You groan. “Fine. I’ll be there at two thirty but no sooner. Got that?”

“Got it boss,” Artigas chuckles and hangs up.

“Freeloaders,” you grumble, not really meaning it. “Tris, you want to go into work with me for a little bit before your Mama comes to pick you up?” you ask.

Tris’ entire face lights up. “Yeah, yeah! Unka Linkon!”

“Uncle Lincoln’s gonna be busy, kiddo, but you can help me teach my class and I’ll show you how to kick people. How’s that sound?” you offer. It’s never too young to start them, anyway. Tris nods fervently. “Alright then. Go find your jacket and shoes and we’ll head out.”

* * *

 

It always surprises you how well-behaved Tris can be when she’s so excitable at the same time, but with Lexa as her mother, it must just be the genetics. She sits quietly while you teach the intermediate aikido class, occasionally trying to imitate the moves the adults are practicing, falling over more than once and making more than one student quietly laugh. Tris always clambers right back up though, ready to try again. The class ends, and you call your niece over as the students file out.

You walk Tris through some beginner moves you use in your children’s classes, complete with all the fun names like Highest Tree (reach for the ceiling), Firecracker (jumping jack), and Cat Lunges (side shuffles), meant to keep children entertained. Your dojo mostly sticks to karate and kickboxing for public children’s classes, despite the latter not traditionally being taught at a dojo, but kids can take aikido and judo in private lessons as well. You’ll leave it at kickboxing with Tris for the day – it’s the simplest to learn. Tris pays careful attention as you show her how to do a jab, a hook, a front kick, and a roundhouse. “Nice, Tris,” you praise when she successfully manages one of each on each side. “Think you can do a combo?”

“Wassa combo?” she asks, tilting her head exactly like Lexa does when she’s confused. It pinches your heart, this little version of your best friend, innocent the way Lexa hasn’t been since her parents died.

You clear your throat roughly and shake off the strange thought. Too emotional. “It’s a bunch of the moves I just showed you all put together. Want to try?”

“Yeah!”

“Alright, then. Right jab!” Tris hesitates before punching the right arm. “Left front! Left hook! Right front!” One after the other, Tris follows your commands and she does it so well, you decide to reward her before she gets bored. “Okay, last one kiddo. Right roundhouse!” Tris’ foot connects right around at your knee level, and you fake defeat, falling to the ground and rolling on your back. “Oh, you got me!”

Tris squeals with delight and jumps on your stomach, knocking the wind out of you with her knobby knees. “Got you got you Aunny!”

“Well, what do we have here?” an amused voice distracts you both.

“Mama! Mama!” Tris yells excitedly, leaping off of you and pushing the breath from your lungs once again, making you groan as the toddler runs for her mother. “I fighted Aunny Ya, Mama! I winned!”

Lexa laughs and scoops her daughter into the air. “You won Aunt Anya huh? Good job, baby,” she praises. “You’ll be a black belt before you know it.”

“Give us til she’s ten,” you promise from your new spot on the floor. “I’ll have Tris an expert in judo and karate by then, at the very least.”

Tris bounces excitedly in Lexa’s arms. “I fight Aunny Ya more?”

Lexa nuzzles noses with her. “My little warrior,” she grins. “We’ll talk to Mommy about it, won’t we?” She tosses Tris in the air a little ways, making her shriek with laughter.

“Higher, Mama, higher!”

“Why don’t you show me what Aunt Anya taught you, baby.” Lexa sets Tris down and she immediately runs back to you.

“Kay, Mama, watch!”

You show Tris again how her fists should be raised to her chin, thumbs on the outside. “Spread your feet, kid.” Tris’ feet immediately go halfway into the splits. You raise your eyebrows. “You know not that far, Tris.” She gives you a grin and corrects to shoulder width apart, just as you showed her, the little shit. “Okay, give me a left jab,” you coach. Tris thinks for a second about which hand is her left, then punches forward into your own hand with the correct one. “Nice. Right hook.” A little awkwardly, the opposite hand curves to hit you. You coach her through a couple front kicks and more jabs before having her end with an ‘Exploding Chair’ – a jump squat.

“Boom!” she yells when she jumps in the air, arms spread wide. “See Mama?”

As you watch Tris run back into her proud mother’s arms, Lexa looks more at peace than you’ve seen since her foster sister, Tris’ namesake, died. Clarke gave your best friend her joy and love of life back, but it wasn’t until Tris was born that you saw Lexa’s heart finally settle. The long nights of your teenage years, either sneaking into Lexa’s bed in your shared room to calm her nightmares or laying awake in your bed, hoping she wouldn’t do anything reckless to herself can be a distant memory. You don’t have to worry about her anymore.


	28. Tris and Lincoln

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently this is gonna be a little mini series. I AM working on the next chapter of Princess, which should be out hopefully next week, and after that will be another Fight for Me chapter. But I'm having too much fun with these little mini scenes.

_August 17, 2024_

“Uncle Link! Looky, look!” Tris yells in excitement, pointing at the ducks in the pond. “Duckies! Can we feed them?”

You tighten your grip on her tiny hand, careful not to let her go tramping into the shallow pond in her eagerness. “We can, little one. I remembered the bird seed,” you reassure her. Whenever you’re watching Tris, you try to stay outside with her as much as possible. Some of your best memories growing up were running wild through the trees behind your house, climbing and playing warrior with your friends. Tris gets enough martial arts practice in her lessons with Anya whenever she’s got her for the day, and even though you love working with Anya, you try to keep Tris out of the dojo when it’s your turn. So you’ve participated in more than one picnic and petting zoo outing in the past four years. It’ll be good practice for when Octavia has your guys’ first child in a couple months, which you already know will be a girl.

It's terrifying, the prospect of becoming a father. But you love being an uncle to Tris and Aiden, and Octavia is so wonderful with them, your normally fiery, microscopic wife turning into something more gentle whenever the toddlers are around. She’d wanted to come with you and Tris today, but the station had called her in with a break in the murder investigation she was heading, so Octavia probably won’t be home until tomorrow.

Before you can worry too much about your absent wife, you turn your attention back to Tris, who is currently tugging on your hand, trying to reach your backpack where she knows the bird seed is kept. “Uncle Link, please?” she whines just a little bit.

You chuckle. “Alright, Tris,” you placate her, pulling the pack off your shoulders and unzipping it. “Here you go.” You hand the bag of seed over. “Remember: not all at once and don’t get too close to the pond okay? We don’t need a water rescue today.”

“Okay.” Tris wanders over to the pond under your watchful eye, hand digging into the plastic bag to toss food to the birds. The toddler is quickly surrounded by ducklings as their mother pecks at Tris’ offering. Tris plunks her little butt down and immediately somehow manages to get two wild baby ducks into her lap with four more crawling on her legs while the last pecks at the back of her shirt. Tris freezes, eyes wide in delight. “Uncle Link!” she whisper yells. “They like me!”

You whip out your phone to document this. “They know you’re not going to hurt them little one. They’re playing just like you do. You’re their very own personal playground.” Tris giggles, petting one of the birds on her lap gently.

“Isn’t she the sweetest little thing?” You look over to your right and see a middle aged woman watching Tris with a smile. “Your daughter is lucky to have a father like you,” she compliments you.

Oh. “Thank you, but Tris isn’t –”

“He’s not my daddy!” Tris pipes up from behind you, standing up from her duck pile carefully and stepping over them so she can run over and grab your leg. And, _there’s_ the look. The look a lot of women give you when you’re the only man with a small child at the park, or really any public place. That slight suspicion and idea that you don’t belong there. “He’s my Uncle Linkon!”

Tris to the slight rescue.

“I don’t have a daddy.”

And right back to the bottom.

The woman has that look of slightest condescension kids always get from adults, the one you hated as a teenager when you were the only mixed kid at your school, not belonging to either group and ignored or looked down on by students and staff alike. “Oh Sweetie, everyone has a dad.”

Tris stomps her foot, pouting. “No! I have,” Tris counts on her fingers – Clarke and Lexa have been working on numbers with her – “one, two, _two_ mommies!” she states proudly, holding her fingers up for the woman to see. “Mommy and Mama!”

And you can see the instant it hits the woman what Tris is talking about. Her lip curls, and you step in front of Tris, hoping to shield her from any poison this stranger is about to spit. “I see.” She swallows. “That’s – nice. I should be going.” She walks away very quickly, as if Tris having two mothers is a disease that’s catching.

You roll your eyes and breathe a sigh of relief, glad that the woman at least kept her foul opinion to herself. Thank heavens for little miracles, and Tris didn’t have to hear people speak poorly about her family. You can only hope you’ll be half as good a parent as Clarke and Lexa when your own child is born. Octavia probably would have gotten into a screaming match with the woman, so perhaps it’s a good thing she was called in today. You turn around, hoping Tris didn’t pick up on the woman’s negativity, but the toddler is already back to happily tossing bird seed to ‘her’ ducks.

You send the picture you took of Tris surrounded by ducklings – her giggle plain to see – to Lexa.

**Lincoln 2:33 pm –** _You and Clarke have your very own animal whisperer. Your child is still the cutest kid I’ve ever met._

**Lincoln 2:34 pm –** _At least until my daughter gets here in October._

**Lexa 2:36 pm –** _Nice try, but Tris will always be the cutest girl child in this group. And Clarke still insists that Octavia’s having twins._

**Lincoln 2:38 pm –** _She’s seeing things in that ultrasound. There is no extra finger in there, and if there is, my kid’s gonna have polydactyly._

**Lexa 2:38 pm –** _I’m just telling you what she says. I’ll pick up Tris from your place at four, I’ve gotta get to a meeting._

**Lincoln 2:40 pm –** _Clarke thinks she’s better than the technician specially trained to read ultrasounds huh? Tell her that if Octavia has twins, I’ll give her a hundred bucks and that old guitar of mine she loves so much. See you at four._

* * *

_October 15, 2024_

Well.

…

You owe Clarke one hundred dollars and your guitar.

You look down at Daughter #1 – with the already picked out name of Aurora, for Octavia’s mother – _and_ Daughter #2, identical to the first – and as yet unnamed because you and Octavia were _not_ expecting her – and kick yourself for not remembering the first rule you learned when you were introduced to Octavia’s friend group.

‘ _Never_ question Clarke Griffin when she’s made up her mind about something’.


	29. Aiden and Clarke

_July 12, 2028_

Aiden is shivering just a little bit in his seat next to you on the patio boat, clutching his sketchpad and pencil to his chest tightly. You’re in Chicago for a few weeks for your annual summer trip, and despite being used to similar New York temperatures this time of year, the wind coming off Lake Michigan is bitingly cold. You pull Aiden into your lap, wrapping your arms around his waist to leave his hands free to draw. “Which ones look cool, Aiden?” you whisper, not paying attention to the tour guide but not wanting to disturb the other tourists.

You and Lexa wanted to keep the family together for at least most of the trip, but Aiden had badly wanted to see all the ‘cool buildings’ he’d read about in his architecture picture books, while Tris had no interest and frankly, neither did Lexa. So you had agreed to separate for the afternoon, with Lexa taking your daughter to the aquarium just a couple miles away – you know she just wanted to see if they had any squids – and you and Aiden are on an architectural boat tour that is actually turning out to be rather interesting.

“Mommy, Mommy, look!” your seven year old says excitedly. “That one looks like a beehive!”

You tilt your head. “Really? I think it looks like a corn cob.”

Aiden thinks about it and shrugs. “I guess so. Maybe it’s supposed to be just the inside of a beehive? What’s that called Mommy?”

“Honeycomb, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, that! It looks like that.”

You wonder what on earth made an architect want to design a building that looks like the home of insects, but to each his own. It’s interesting to look at, at the very least. “Well, sketch it out real quick, Aid. So you can remember it later.” You snap a quick picture on your phone, just in case Aiden isn’t fast enough to draw it the way he wants. He can use it for reference later.

Aiden flips open his book and begins drawing out the lines and curves. He’s much better at inanimate drawings than you ever were – you prefer people and landscapes, but Aiden has a natural gift for calculating angles and basically drawing math equations using only his head. Lexa boasts that you have a mathematical genius on your hands, but only time will tell. For now, he’s happy enough just to draw buildings that he loves and recreate them with his Legos and K’nex at home.

You look up from watching your son draw and your eyes connect with the one building you irrationally wanted to avoid on this trip. You huff and look back down at Aiden, but you’ve drawn his attention. He catches sight of it as well and wriggles a little. “Mommy, can I do the thing? Please, please, _please_? Mama said I could! Before she and Tris went to see the fishes!”

“Of course she said that,” you sigh. “By all means, Aid. Just be careful.” You release your son and let him clamber off your lap. He stands carefully, moving with the subtle rocking of the boat as he tries to find his balance.

Once he’s steady, Aiden sticks his thumbs in his ears and waggles his fingers as he pokes out his tongue. “Nah-nah-nah nah-nah nah!” He blows a raspberry at Trump Tower.

 _My son,_ you think fondly, shaking your head.

“Our thoughts exactly, buddy,” the tour guide agrees, having been distracted from his narration by Aiden’s outburst.

“Alright, Aiden, that’s enough. Come sit down now,” you instruct. You know Aiden doesn’t quite understand the general public’s vitriol for the man, having been too young when his presidency had eventually gone down in flames with all his treasonous lies and warmongering finally catching up with him, but Aiden knows that whenever people talk about that time, his parents get sad. Your son is very bright, and he’s figured out that the reason you and Lexa were sometimes scared when he was small was because of that awful man.

Aiden plops himself back down on your lap and goes back to his sketches as the architecture tour continues. Once it ends, you hold his hand as he hops off the boat, careful to make sure he doesn’t jump right into the water. “Where too next, Aid?” you ask. “Do you want to maybe see one of those buildings up close or do we want to check with Mama and Tris and see if they’re ready to find some lunch?”

“I wanna see the Bean, Mommy!” Aiden yelps excitedly.

Ah, Cloud Gate. You should have known. Some people have sports players or firefighters or policemen as heroes – your son has architects and sculptors and artists. He’s still a little young to remember facts, but he’s looked at the pictures in your old art design college textbooks several times, and Anish Kapoor is his favorite artist by far. “Alright, little man. We can go see the Bean.”

You call an Uber and Aiden tells you animatedly on the way about how Kapoor is still the only artist allowed to use ‘the blackest blackest blackest black ever Mommy’, in his creative work. God, how did you and Lexa manage to end up with two little nerds like Tris and Aiden? You’re blaming Lexa, whose idea of a fun night in is several episodes of Planet Earth – even if she’s seen it no less than eight times all the way through already.

Aiden entertains himself at the sculpture, running around it to see all the distorted views of the skyline and taking pictures of it with your phone. He comes back to where you’ve been sitting and watching him, panting and happily tired. “Did you text Mama for lunch?” he asks.

“Yeah, Aid. Before you ran off with it. They’re going to meet us here and we’ll find food after.”

“Okay, cool. I’m _starving_!” he says emphatically.

You would swear the boy eats as much as you or Lexa. “I’m sure you are. It’s getting a little late.” You hand him a granola bar from your bag, because you’re _that_ mom. You’ve become domesticated.

“Hey Mom.” Aiden tugs on your sleeve. “What’s going on over there?” He points to where a girl probably in her early twenties is kneeling in front of another girl, small box in her hands. The standing one has her hands over her mouth. She nods frantically a few seconds later and drops to her knees to engulf what is probably now her fiancée in a hug.

“Looks like someone just got asked to get married, Aiden.”

“Oh, cool.” He seems content to watch the happy couple for a little while longer, his pencil steady over his sketchpad. “Did you ask Mama to marry you or did she ask?” he questions eventually.

You grin. “Technically, your Mama asked me. But she stole my thunder.”

“Why?”

“It was her birthday. I had this whole big plan on how to ask her, right? I was going to ask her that day, but we woke up that morning, and I wanted to paint her. You know the tattoo on Mama’s back?”

Aiden nods. “Yeah, of space!”

“Right. The nebula. I painted that on her back, and your Mama loved it so much she just _had_ to ask me to marry her. Right then.” Lexa would probably protest and say something sappy about how she’d been looking for the right time to ask for months – which she probably had been. You’ll never let her forget that her spontaneous proposal completely pulled the rug out from under all your well made plans.

“That’s cool. That you painted space on her back and she liked it enough to get a tattoo _and_ ask you to get married,” Aiden considers.

You smile down at him and hug him one armed. “It _was_ pretty cool,” you agree.

“There you guys are!”

Lexa’s voice jolts you out of your moment and a second later, a small weight thuds into your back, making you laugh. “Hey, Tris. Did you have fun with Mama?”

“Yeah, it was awesome! We saw turtles and fish and all kinds of things. What did you do, Aiden?”

“We watched a girl ask another girl to marry her,” he replies. “Did you know Mama stole Mommy’s proposal?”

Lexa’s mouth drops open. “What? Your Mommy’s telling vicious lies, bud,” she protests. “I didn’t steal anything – it’s not my fault she was too slow in asking.”

“You weren’t any faster!” you counter. “You literally picked the same day as I did.”

Your wife presses a light kiss to your forehead and then your lips, making your kids groan. “Agree to disagree,” she murmurs. “Now. Who’s hungry?”

“Me!” both of your kids shout, jumping from their seats.

God, you love your family.


End file.
